Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia
by The All Real Numbers Symbol
Summary: A series of stand-alone stories of things that did not make it into Certain Demolitions, and some spinoffs of that story, too. 16. From Dusk to Dawn, Part 2. France, 1944. "The rat-faced Millice man who had arrested Apollo and the others was busily working on paperwork, when the door slammed open and there came a shout of "Achtung!" Then Klavier and Clay entered the room."
1. Many Things, But Never Friends

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

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 **Summary** : Everything that did not make it into Certain Demolitions, and some spinoffs of the story, too. 1. "Is that Klavier?" Mander asked. "He's grown up since I've last seen him." Munich, 1934: Kristoph is running late for class, so he takes Klavier to university with him.

 **Genre** : General/Drama

 **Rating** : T because war and stuff like that might be mentioned.

 **Disclaimer** : All the disclaimers in the original fic still apply.

 **Additional** : You're welcome to take the cold plunge into this if you want, but I'm going to warn you in advance that this will make more sense if you've read Certain Demolitions.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Many Things, But Never Friends**

[Status: Cannon in the context of C.D.]

"Is that Klavier?" Mander asked, looking at the younger Gavin who was dancing with another guest. "He's grown up since I've last seen him."

 _That's because the last time I saw you was six years ago, and not nearly enough time has passed since then_ , Kristoph thought, but he didn't say anything. – Certain Demolitions, Chapter 4

* * *

 _Munich, Germany_

 _1934_

It has not been Kristoph's day.

His meeting with his father's attorney that morning had run long, much longer then he had expected, which had caused him to be late getting back home, which was going to cause him to be late to class if he didn't hurry.

And today was examination day.

To compound this problem, Klavier was home, on holiday from his school, and Kristoph had not had time to stop at the Rosenbaums and see if Frau Rosenbaum would mind Klavier for the afternoon. He was not even sure that the Rosenbaums were home; he had thought they were traveling this week.

But by the time he makes it back to the house there's not even time to ask Frau Dreier to mind Klavier for him. By the time he gets over there and explains things, he will be out of time for anything else.

There's only one thing that he can think to do: Klavier will have to come with him.

Kristoph enters the house and sprints up the stairs, though he knows he'll pay for that tomorrow. He arrives at the top of the stairs and listens. The sound of guitar music is audible, and after a moment he determines that it's coming from the front of the house, not the back, and heads for the library.

"Klavier!" He calls as he enters the room. His little brother, who has been leaning over a music book open the table with his fingers working automatically on the guitar as his mind processes the notes on the paper, looks up, curious.

"I have to go the University and you have to come with me."

Klavier seems excited by the idea. "Really?"

"Yes. But you have to behave, understand?" Kristoph really does not have time for this, and he's starting to feel frazzled, and he doesn't like it. Klavier hasn't really grasped the meaning of the term "control freak" yet, but his older brother is rapidly becoming one.

"I will." Klavier promised.

"Good. You'll have to be quiet, too, so get some books or something to take with you." Klavier darts past him, heading for his room. Kristoph leaves the library after flicking the light off ( _Why did he even have that on? It's the middle of the day_.) He goes to his bedroom, unlocks the door, and lets himself in.

His book bag is sitting near the door, and he picks it up, grateful that he'd had the forethought to pack the things he would need for class before he left that morning. He strips off his bow tie, replacing it quickly with a pale pink tie, and adjusts his navy blue suit jacket.

Klavier reappears in the doorway a moment later, holding a book and a stack of paper. Kristoph takes them from him without comment and shoves them into his bag with his school books. Klavier is wearing a bright purple dress shirt under his black suit. No tie, no bowtie, just that dumb livery collar with the "G" from the family crest on it that he's taken to wearing these days. Normally Kristoph would say something, about the collar at least, but he doesn't have time today. Instead he takes his bag and his cane and starts steering Klavier towards the door.

"Will I get to sit in class with you?" Klavier asks as Kristoph hurries down the stairs. He has no problems keeping up with his brother, who is already starting to regret that run up the stairs earlier.

"Not today. I have exams today." Kristoph said. "You'll have to sit outside the classroom and be very quiet."

Klavier gave him a dirty look. "I'm not a baby. I know how to be quiet."

They were out of the house now; Kristoph turned back to lock the door. "I'm just reminding you, that's all. Come on. I'm going to be late as it is."

(-)

To Kristoph's relief, he arrives at the door of his classroom at Munich University with five minutes to spare. There are some benches out in the wide hallway near the classroom. This is where he leaves Klavier.

"I want to be able to walk of class when I'm done," Kristoph instructs him as he takes a pen and pencil out of his bag, "And see you."

"I'm not a little kid." Klavier shoots back. "I won't wander off."

"Good, because I'm counting on you." Kristoph said, handing his bag to his younger brother. Having his textbook with him would only have been useful if he had gotten there with enough time to study, and that was no longer the case. "I'll be back as soon as the exam is over." He said, and then vanished into the classroom, keeping his cane with him.

A few more stragglers streamed in as five minutes became three, then one, and then a man came over and shut the classroom door.

For a little while, Klavier reads the book he brought with him, but then he gets bored. He ends up on the floor next to the bench. Klavier takes Kristoph's textbook out of the bag and starts to look through it. The section he opens the book to is about the history of criminal law in Germany. He's engrossed in it within minutes.

Klavier isn't keeping track of the time so he doesn't know when exactly the man with short, sand-colored hair and brown eyes comes into the hall and spots him. The man walks over and takes a closer look, but Klavier is still reading, oblivious. It isn't until the man is standing over him that he looks up suddenly.

"You look familiar." The man said pleasantly. "In fact, you look like a classmate of mine, Kristoph Gavin."

"He's my brother." Klavier said suspiciously.

"You must be Klavier, then," The man said.

"Who are you?" Klavier did not sound like his suspicions were allayed at all.

"I am Heinz Mander." The man said. "It's nice to meet you. Do you mind if I ask what you're reading?"

Klavier does mind, actually, but he doesn't want to be rude, so he holds up the book so the man in front of him can see the cover.

"That's quite a big book for someone of your age. Do you understand what you're reading?"

"Yes." Klavier tells him shortly, feeling angry now that someone's questioned his intelligence. He wants to tell the man in front of him that he's been reading "big books" for years now, in three different languages, but he doesn't. Kristoph would tell him it sounded too much like bragging, if Kristoph overheard what Klavier wanted to say.

"Klavier?" Someone calls his name, and Klavier recognizes Kristoph's voice. The class must be over; people are streaming out of the room. Both Klavier and Mander look up as Kristoph comes toward them. "There you are. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes." Klavier responded quickly, shoving things back into the bag and handing it to Kristoph.

"Hello, Gavin." Mander said.

"Herr Mander." Kristoph said coolly.

"I was just talking to your little brother here." Mander says, smiling at Klavier. Klavier doesn't like it, and moves closer to Kristoph.

"I'm sure." Kristoph replies, noncommittally. "But we need to be going home, so if you'll excuse us…" He puts a hand on Klavier's shoulder, and starts steering him back the way they had come earlier that afternoon. In his other hand he holds his bag and cane.

Mander catches him by the arm as he starts to turn away. "Gavin, have you considered what I've said about joining the Party?"

Kristoph smiles. It's not a nice smile.

Klavier notices this fact. Mander does not.

"I have not had time to consider it in any detail." Kristoph replies.

"You should." Mander said, and it sounded vaguely like a threat.

"Unhand me, please." Kristoph responds, and it's also a veiled threat. Mander releases his hold on Kristoph. "I'll look into the application a little more." Kristoph says, and then walks away with Klavier.

(-)

Back at the train station, Klavier asked, "Who was that man?"

"A classmate." Fortunately that class is over as of earlier this week, which should cut down on the risk of Kristoph having to see Mander again.

"What Party did he want you to join?" Klavier asked, looking up at his big brother.

Kristoph hesitated, not sure that he wanted to explain the present political situation in Germany to his little brother. "He wanted me to join a political party."

"Are you going to?"

"I don't know."

The train pulls into the station, and they board for the trip home in silence.

* * *

 **[A/N:]** I can't find anything about public transport in Germany, so we're gonna fall back on trains. Again. I looked up clothing for young adults and kids in this era: smaller versions of adult clothes! Which is actually right for today, too, now that I think about it.

Filling in a little hole here, because I was was writing CD last night and I thought (SPOILERS:) "Mander sure seems to know who he's looking for when he starts trying to track down Klavier. And it could just be because the Gavin brothers look so much alike, but he'd still have to know that somehow." Chapter 4 of CD, though, has the situation that I added at the beginning of this chapter, so I thought I'd explore that a little bit. I'm trying to run on vague age, still, but if I was forced to narrow a window here, I would say Klavier is 10-12, and of course, Kristoph is eight years older then Klavier.

I have a couple other ideas I'll probably be posting here, too.

Please review.


	2. Leave Nothing to Chance

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

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 **Summary** : 2. Munich, 1940. Kristoph could, in theory, let Klavier make up his own mind about the matter. But why take that risk?

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Leave Nothing to Chance**

[Status: Cannon in the context of C.D.]

 _Munich, Germany_

 _Summer, 1940_

The letter was addressed to Klavier, so, really, he should have let Klavier open it. But the return address is from the Nazi party headquarters in Munich, so Kristoph opens it when it arrives in the mail.

The older Gavin sits at his desk in his office and reads the letter. It's a notice from a Captain Berger that he will be stopping by this evening to talk to Klavier about joining the military. It's a matter-of-fact letter, making it sound like this will just be a pleasant conversation. The older Gavin is not convinced.

Kristoph reads the letter, crumples it up, and drops it on his desk. Then he rises and goes to see what his little brother is doing.

He pushes the library door open ever so slightly until he spots Klavier, who is sitting at the table in the room, his guitar on his lap. Klavier plays a note, and then makes a note on the paper in front of him. Then he plays another note, and another. He skips the first note but marks the second down.

Kristoph has seen all he needs to see, and pulls the door closer to closed again. Klavier is composing, which means there's a good chance he'll be in the library for half the night.

He thinks it through. Kristoph could, in theory, show the letter to Klavier and let him make up his own mind about whether or not he wants to meet with the officer. Then he discards the thought. Why take a chance?

He goes downstairs to start dinner, wondering as he does, if Klavier intends to go out that evening. If he does, then there won't be anything else that he needs to do. But if Klavier intends to stay home tonight, then Kristoph will have to make some other plans.

(-)

Klavier wanders downstairs and into the kitchen an hour after Kristoph has begun working on the evening meal.

"Are you going out tonight?" Kristoph asks him, stirring noodles on the stove.

"I wasn't going too. I'm busy." Klavier replied, and Kristoph knew that Klavier was still in the middle of composing and was planning on being in the library for the rest of the night. "Why?"

"Just curious. I didn't know if you had any plans." Kristoph said, searching his memory for another solution to the problem. One comes to mind. "The food will be ready in a few minutes. Why don't you set the table?"

Klavier does so, without complaint. It takes him only a few moments.

"Go find something to have with dinner." Kristoph instructs as he leaves the kitchen and heads upstairs. Klavier sighs and vanishes through the door that leads to a now largely depleted wine cellar. Though it isn't as full as it used to be, Kristoph still keeps a selection of wines on hand.

Kristoph manages to retrieve what he wants and get back to the kitchen before Klavier reappears. When Klavier still does not reappear after Kristoph has been in the kitchen for a moment or two, Kristoph takes the beef out of the oven, makes a small amount of gravy that he doctors with just enough sleep aid to make Klavier will spend the rest of the night unconscious. The rest of the broth he dumps out in a hurry.

He manages to get the main dishes of food on the table when Klavier reappears, holding the wine. "You didn't tell me what we were having so I hope this one works."

"That will be just fine. See, you are learning about wines." Kristoph smiles and takes the bottle from him. He sets the bottle of wine down by his plate. "Are you drinking?"

"No." Klavier said, taking his seat at the table. Kristoph isn't surprised. Klavier doesn't drink wine very often. He puts the last dishes on the table, including the small amount of doctored gravy that he sets by Klavier's plate. Then he sits down and they begin the meal.

Klavier examines the small dish of gravy next to his plate. "Is all there is?"

"Yes," Kristoph replies, sounding unconcerned as he opened the bottle of wine.

"Do you want any?"

"No, I'm fine." Kristoph told him as he managed to get the cork out of the bottle. "You don't need to save any for me."

Klavier shrugged and dumped the entire contents of the dish onto his beef and noodles. Kristoph dished up his food, sipped his wine, and watched his brother eat.

(-)

After the meal, he declines his brother's offer to help clean up and sends Klavier back to the library. _I don't need you falling asleep down here because I don't want to have to try and carry you upstairs._ Kristoph thinks as he watches his brother vanish out the door and down the hall. Ideally, Klavier will end up either in his room or back in the library, and it's probably going to be the library. Whichever place he lands, Kristoph will work it into his plan.

He takes his time doing the dishes, putting the food away, cleaning up the kitchen. When he's done, he pauses and looks at the clock. The letter said that Captain Berger would be by at quarter past seven. He still had some time, so he wandered upstairs to his office and wrote two more letters.

When the clock on his desk showed seven, Kristoph stood up and went to the library. He found Klavier, stretched out on the couch in the room, sound asleep with a couple of music papers clutched in his hand.

Kristoph strode by and went to the windows. He pulled the curtains shut on all of the windows, and then went back to his brother. He carefully tugged the papers out of Klavier's hand and set them on the table. Then he went to his room and came back to the library with a blue blanket. He took Klavier's boots off and then he spread the blanket over his younger brother.

He pressed a kiss to Klavier's forehead. "Sleep well, little brother." He said with a smirk. Then he left, locking the library door behind him.

There was very little chance that Klavier would wake during the meeting. But he wants to make sure that his guest tonight won't wander into the library by mistake.

(-)

At quarter past seven, he's waiting downstairs, with the front sitting room open in case it's needed. He has tea brewed and is ready and waiting when the knock comes at the door.

He goes to answer the door and finds a man in a Nazi uniform standing there. It must be Captain Berger. "Hiel Hitler!" The man said.

Kristoph returned the salute in silence and gestured for the man to come in.

"You must be Herr Kristoph Gavin." Captain Berger said. "Is Klavier Gavin here?"

"I'm sorry, he received your letter late today, and had plans he wasn't able to change in time. He begs your apologies for not being able to meet with you tonight." Kristoph lies through his teeth and doesn't so much as blink or fidget.

"Oh dear, that's really too bad. I had been hoping to speak to him about joining the military. We have lots of wonderful opportunities for young men these days." Captain Berger said. "And Lieutenant Mander thought your brother might be interested in them." Kristoph files that bit of information for later. He's been wondering who's been behind all the contacts from the military lately.

 _Of course, it would be Mander. I had to decline that one invitation in college to go pretend to be friendly with the one man who turns into a dedicated Nazi before he graduates, and this is what I get._

Berger is still talking. Kristoph re-focuses on what the other man is saying. "You will tell him I called, won't you? And let him know that he may call on me at any time if he would like to learn more about opportunities in the military.

Kristoph smiles. "Of course." _Over my dead body!_

Captain Berger takes his leave a few minutes later, and Kristoph returns to the sitting room to finish his now-cool cup of tea.

He ponders the visit as he drinks. _I hate war. And the Nazis_.

 _And Mander is getting on my nerves too._ Even though he hadn't seen the man in forever, Mander managed to find some way to stick around.

He took the tea service back to the kitchen, closed up the front sitting room, and make sure that the front door was locked. On his way back to his office, he unlocked the door to the library. Berger was gone, and so was the threat.

For now.

(-)

When Klavier wakes up the next morning, he can't remember falling asleep. He also can't remember what he had intended the next few notes of the song on the table in front of him to be, which irritates him more.

He looked at the sheets of music, and then set them back on the table.

What were those next notes going to be? And why had he fallen asleep before he'd written them down?

The blanket he's covered with is blue, which means its Kristoph's. Klavier sits up and pulls his boots one, then departs the library, taking the blanket with him. He still can't remember the last notes he was going to put down, and he isn't happy about it.

Kristoph is sitting at his desk examining a document that he's received in the mail when the door opens, and Klavier drags into the room, looking extremely cranky.

Kristoph notices this last fact but does not let it bother him. "Good morning, Klavier." He says with a smile.

Klavier growls a response and goes to the couch behind the desk. He drops down onto it and curls up under the blanket. "I fell asleep before I finished the song I was working on."

 _Oh so that's the problem_ , Kristoph thinks, unconcerned. Klavier could be so touchy about his work when he was composing. Klavier tended to be touchy about his music in general.

Kristoph does not feel bad in the slightest. Klavier will get over it.

"I don't even remember falling asleep." Klavier complained. "And I'm still tired."

"Don't let it bother you." Kristoph advised, holding up a sheet of paper to take a better lock at the information on it. "You were probably more tired then you thought last night."

He got another non-committal growl in response. Then another thought occurred to him and he set the paper back down. "I hope you are not wearing boots on my couch and under my blanket."

Klavier pulled the blanket over his head and shot back, "Lick me!"

Kristoph grimaced. "Don't be so common. Are you going to go back to work on your music or are you going to spend the rest of the morning sulking about last night?"

There's no response. "I'll interpret that to mean the latter." Kristoph said, sliding his papers into a neat stack on his desk. "I'm going to make breakfast. Do you want anything in particular?"

"No." Klavier said. He sounded like he was still sulking.

Kristoph walked over to the couch and patted Klavier on the head through the blanket. "You'll get your muse back, and your music will be fine." He turned to leave.

 _And in the meantime, you certainly won't be joining the military._

* * *

 **[A/N:]** I wasn't sure about posting this one, but then I realized (SPOILERS): It's not like Kristoph behaves any better in chapters 34 and 37 of C.D, so I might as well write this down and then it can go live on FFN and not in my brain anymore.

This is not the chapter with the spoilers for Chapters 31 and 32 of C.D., either. The spoiler chapter of Fantasia is an AU one (AU in the context of Certain Demolitions. Yea, it's an AU for an AU.)

Merry Christmas! I wasn't planning to update today, but as usual, there's "My Plans" and then there's "Certain Demolitions et al." So have an update.

"Lick me" is a German idiom. Probably the closest comparison in English is "bite me." And I still do find German idioms hilarious.

I don't know what the drinking laws were in Germany in this period, and I couldn't be bothered to research it because I still don't give a hoot about any country's drinking laws at any point in time.

I think that's everything. Merry Christmas, have a fantastic day, and please review!

 _12-25-17_


	3. Miracles and Mirror Images

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

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 **Summary** : 2. Apollo's plane goes down over Germany, which leads to a most interesting meeting between himself and a man who's almost a dead ringer for Klavier...

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 **SPOILER WARNING:** I give up. This thing has been in my document manager on FFN for several days, because I thought that I would be able to post it after I got up to Chapter 32 of C.D., because it had spoilers, I thought, for chapters 31 and 32. I was right, but not entirely. It has spoilers for at least chapter 37, too.

So consider this your fair warning: here there be spoilers.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Miracles and Mirror Images**

[Status: Non-cannon in the context of C.D.]

 _1943_

Maybe it was that mystical ability that Phoenix swore up and down his foster son had. Apollo didn't know what it was that had made him jump and pull his parachute cord, but he was very grateful to whatever had caused him to jump out of the plane before the wing had broken off entirely and the rest of the machine had taken a rapid nose-dive to the ground.

That feeling of luck had started to diminish since his landing on German soil, though. Apollo wasn't sure where he was and he was starting to be afraid that someone was following him. Gestapo? It was possible. He had landed basically in someone's backyard, and he had seen the city they had been flying over when the plane went down. His main objective had been to get out of the city. He would probably have a better chance of hiding out in the countryside, at least until he could make his way back to his side of the fight.

He took off running again. It was starting to get dark now. The flight he'd been on had been out before it was truly dark, which probably had contributed to the mess Apollo found himself in.

 _I've got to get out of here,_ Apollo thought. All he needed was someone asking him where he was going or what he was doing, and they would call the Gestapo pretty quickly when they learned he couldn't speak any German.

The next moment, his fear was realized. A man in a dark blue coat with a cane came around the corner. He saw Apollo and they both came to a stop.

Apollo wasn't sure what to think. Except for the glasses, the man in front of him was almost a dead ringer for Klavier...

Klavier...

"Kristoph?" He asked. He was pretty sure that had been what Klavier had said his brother's name was.

But those days when they were at college together feel like years ago now.

The man looked startled, and said something in German. Apollo looked at him blankly. The man looked annoyed, then said, in almost flawless English with a faint trace of an accent, "Do I know you?"

"No, but I think I know your brother, Klavier." It's shot in the dark, to be sure, but it's the only shot Apollo has at this point.

"Based on your accent, you must be American." The man says. "I am Kristoph Gavin. Who are you?"

"Apollo Justice."

"Come with me. The Gestapo and the home guard will be looking for you." He takes off his coat and hands it Apollo, who doens't need to be told to put it on. His soldier's uniform will make it clear to anyone they meet which side Apollo is on, but the coat covers his uniform entirely. Kristoph sets off, going back in the direction from which Apollo has come.

He isn't sure whether or not Kristoph is leading him into a trap, but it's the only chance he has at this point. Apollo follows the other man through the streets. They're still on the outskirts of the city, but Kristoph clearly has a destination in mind.

"If we see anyone," Kristoph says quietly, in English, without turning around. "Let me do the talking."

"Alright." Apollo agrees.

They walk on, until they come to a street were the houses are large, and have neat yards. It's quiet. Apollo follows Kristoph up to a large house. The blond pulls a ring of keys out of the pocket of his suit jacket, unlocks the door, and motions Apollo to follow him inside. Once they're inside, Kristoph locks the door behind them. "That went a great deal more smoothly then I hoped it would." Kristoph says.

Apollo is too busy gawking. The entryway is huge, and the room beyond is larger. Hallways run from either direction inside the door. Kristoph leads the way into the room beyond and Apollo can see that there's a staircase going to the second floor there, to his right.

"This is a quite a mess." Kristoph says. "And I don't know what to do with you, either."

"The Gestapo?" Apollo suggested somewhat snidely, trying to gauge the man in front of him. This man and this situation makes Apollo want to believe that's he safe, but if Kristoph Gavin is on the German side of the war, as reasonable expectation would lead someone to believe, then this may be a trap.

Kristoph's reaction to the question will help Apollo figure out where he stands here.

"That is out of the question, unless you earnestly desire for me to call them, in which case I will." Kristoph said, adjusting his glasses. Then he clasped his arms behind his back and smiled. "I meant I don't know what to do with you until we can figure out how to get you back to your side of this fight."

"Really?"

"Really. Though I warn you my comrade who assists me with these matters, her schedule is unpredictable. You may be stuck here awhile."

"I'll be fine." Apollo said.

"Stay away from the windows." Kristoph orders as they go up the stairs. "I live alone, so your presence will raise questions. I doubt Frau Dreier will say anything, and the Rosenbaums have been gone for years now, but, how they do say it in America? Better safe than sorry?"

"That's how we say it." Apollo said. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I have my own reasons for this. For starters, while you're here, you can tell me all about what Klavier has been up to in America." They walk down a hall, Kristoph pausing in front of each door. Finally he stops in front of one and unlocks it. "You can stay in here for now."

The room he shows Apollo into is small by the standards of the house, but to Apollo it's huge. It's as large as the master bedroom of Phoenix's house, and comfortable furnished with a bed, a bureau, and a desk against the wall in front of the one window that looks out into the side yard. In another corner of the room is a small round table with a couple of plush chairs around it. The bed has a blue and silver bedspread on it.

Apollo is still busy taking in the room when Kristoph speaks again. "I don't know what to do about your clothes. Nothing I have will fit you and nothing that Klavier left will either. Oh well. A problem for the morning." He turns back to Apollo. "I trust you'll be comfortable here."

"I'm sure I will." Apollo said.

"I'll bid you good night then. I have work in the morning. If the air raid sirens go off, I'll come back and make sure you make it to the scullery."

"Thank you."

"Other then that, wait for me to come get you in the morning." Kristoph said.

"I will. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Good night." His enigmatic host departs a moment later. Apollo drops onto the bed and stares at the ceiling. His nerves are starting to settle now; for the moment he's sure there will be no situation where he can run into the Gestapo.

Two thoughts run through his head. The first, 'Trucy, you're never going to believe this.' The second, 'Klavier, how did you leave all of this behind?'

(-)

The second question comes back up the next day. As it turns out, there's a back servants staircase that Kristoph uses to take him to the kitchen for the breakfast. Once they've eaten, Kristoph departs for work, and instructs him that if he gets hungry later, to use the back staircase to get to the kitchen again.

Then he adds, as he's putting his Ulster on and preparing to depart, "We passed Klavier's room on our way to the stairs. It's the door with the black fretwork carved into it. I unlocked it this morning. Klavier is shorter then I am, though not by much. You might some of his clothes that will work for you."

"O-okay." Apollo said. This whole situation is confusing, but it's been confusing since he landed here. He decides to just roll with it.

After Kristoph has departed, warning him again to stay out of sight ("I do not plan on explaining your presence to the Gestapo," Kristoph informs him,) Apollo goes back upstairs. He doesn't know where Kristoph's room is, but Klavier's is on the back of the house. He stands in front of the ornately carved door for a long time before he finally turns the handle and lets himself in.

Klavier's room is larger then the one Apollo slept in last night. Two windows directly opposite the door let in the sunlight. A large tree with twisting, gnarled branches is visible through the window. To the left of the doorway, centered against the wall, is a bed. The bedframe is ornately carved, and the wood looks dark from age, not because it's been painted. A plum-colored blanket with tiny black diamonds patterned across it covers the bed.

"Yes, this is Klavier's room." Apollo sighed, and stepped further into the room. The desk is in an odd place, to the right of the door, but not up against a wall. Instead, it's slightly off centered in the right side of the room, so that whoever was sitting in it would have a view of whoever was coming through the door. Apollo walks over to it. Two books with German titles sit neatly stacked there. A pile of music papers is next to them. Everything is covered in dust. He thumbs through the sheets of music paper. It looks like Klavier had been writing music, at least for awhile. Some of the papers have notations on them in German. One of them has a couple of scrawled lines and an arrow pointing at one note in piece. Apollo sets them back down and looks around again.

There's a fireplace against the right wall, and a couple of chairs in front of it, with a table between them. There's no ashes in the grate. Apollo looks around, but he isn't sure what he's trying to find.

Back on the left wall, on either side of the bed, are two doors. The one on the far side of the bed leads into a private bathroom. The door on the side of the bed closest to the door leads to a walk-in closet...that takes up a room the size of Apollo's bedroom. A plush bench is in the center of the closet, and a full length mirror is mounted on the far wall. The other two walls have closet rods mounted to them.

Apollo walks through the closet, perturbed, trying to envision what sort of life Klavier had had until he came to America. Most of the closet is empty, but there are a few items of clothing hanging in there. Apollo selects a white button-down shirt and puts it on over his uniform. As Kristoph had predicted, it's too big for him. His uniform can be seen through it if one looks at him long enough, but it's enough to deflect suspicion at least momentarily.

Suddenly feeling like a specter, Apollo leaves the room altogether and closes the door gently behind him.

(-)

Kristoph comes home at six that night. It's early for the man, but Apollo has no way of knowing that.

Kristoph fixes a small dinner for the two of them, and they eat at the table in the kitchen. "My ration book is only good for one." Kristoph says as they start.

Apollo pauses, now wondering if he's taking food out of the man's mouth. Kristoph notices his look and smiles. "My ration book is only good for one person. I buy whatever I want on the black market. It's the only reason you're eating meat tonight. And the reason I will be having coffee tomorrow morning. Now, tell me what Klavier has been up to since you saw him last."

Apollo tells the man what he knows, including the part where Klavier was declared and Enemy Alien by the American government, and adds the news he'd gotten from his latest letter from Trucy. She and Klavier were starting the garden again this year.

When he's finished, Kristoph speaks. "I managed to reach my alternate contact today. You'll be leaving tomorrow night, once they've finished working on the fake papers you'll need."

"Thank you."

"If you want to thank me, help end this war a little sooner. Which I think you will, once you're back with your comrades." Kristoph said.

"Could I ask you something?"

"You can ask whatever you like. But there's no guarantee that I'll answer."

"Why do you speak English better than your brother? He sprinkles a lot of German into his conversation."

Kristoph smiled. "I could not begin to guess. I do know that I had one advantage that he did not. I was able to attend a school in London for a year, and until he went to America Klavier never left the Continent. He was left to study with myself, and the English professors at his schools.

"Why did you send Klavier away?"

Kristoph looked surprised by the question. Apollo went on, "He never talked about how and why he came to America, but the implication was always that he didn't want to go, he was sent away."

"He was." Kristoph confirmed, no emotion in his voice. "He had been drafted, and was going to be sent to the eastern front. As you know, the German army on the eastern front surrendered not all that long ago. If Klavier had been there, he would be dead, or in a prison camp now. So I sent him to America so that, among other things, he wouldn't be involved in that mess in Russia."

"I see."

The rest of the meal concludes in silence.

When it's over, Kristoph stands and says, "You should go back upstairs. It's safer."

"Thank you," Apollo said, "For everything."

"Of course." Kristoph said, and smiled. "Take care of Klavier for me, until I can join him after the war."

"I'll let them know at home, and I'm sure they will."

 **(=X=)**

It's been a rough season at the Wright house since news that the plane Apollo was on went down over Germany has been delivered to them.

There's still hope that Apollo is alive, but only because he was not declared dead.

Phoenix thinks that knowing would be better then not knowing what's happened to Apollo, but he knows that that can go both ways, and he doesn't want to have give Trucy bad news about her brother. So he waits, and hopes that they will get good news.

He'd settle for hearing that Apollo is in some German prison camp somewhere, because that at least means that Apollo isn't be dead.

Trucy, for her part, is trying to pretend that she isn't worried about Apollo, even though she is. She does good, most of the time, keeping her emotions hidden. But sometimes they creep out, and when they do, she spends a lot more time staying close to Phoenix or Klavier.

Klavier, already burdened down with his own problems, had found himself facing the fact that Trucy was leaning on him more and more as the days dragged by with no news of Apollo. He said nothing about it, instead trying to comfort her as best as he could, and not to think too much about what might happen to Apollo, because he knows better then any of them the country that he had left behind, and his older brother is still there too.

Edgeworth doesn't say anything when he hears the news. He frowns, and shakes his head, and promises to write to Franziska immediately and ask her what she can find out.

He doesn't want to tell Phoenix (who probably already knows this anyway) that there's no guarantee that a POW camp would be any safer, and he's thinking of World War I medals sitting on his credenza at home, and his father who went to war and never came back.

Days drag by, and become weeks.

A letter arrives for Klavier one day. It's postmarked from Switzerland. He doesn't know anyone in Switzerland, so this is a bit of a mystery until he opens the envelope and sees the second envelope inside, addressed in his brother's handwriting. He takes the letter, excuses himself, and goes upstairs to read it. He'd written to his brother late last year, after recovering from a serious bout of flu.

Edgeworth comes in about two minutes later. Phoenix is in the kitchen cooking dinner, Trucy is sitting at the kitchen table, her homework spread out on it. She's staring off into space. Edgeworth pulls up a chair next to her. "Hello, Trucy."

She jolted out of her reverie, and a smile grew across her face. "Uncle Miles!"

"Is everything alright?"

"Mm-hmm." Trucy nodded. "I'm fine!" She said, and they both paused, recognizing the phrase. Trucy frowned. Edgeworth patted her hand.

"Have you heard anything from your sister?" Trucy asked. In the kitchen, Phoenix is listening in on the conversation.

"Nothing yet." Edegworth said. "But she may not write until she knows something."

"Apollo is fine, or he was a few weeks ago." Klavier says, coming down the stairs with the letter in his hand. He has everyone's attention, instantly.

"How did you hear?" Phoenix asks, looking at the letter Klavier is holding apprehensively.

"From my brother." Klavier said. He looked down at the letter in front of him and started to read. "It may interest you to hear that I met a classmate of your in Munich the other day, one Apollo Justice. How he came to be here is something I never asked him. He informs me that all is well with you, apart from that unfortunate Enemy Alien incident. With any luck by the time you read this I will have succeeded in sending him back to the Allies, where he belongs."

"Is that all he said?" Phoenix asked, suddenly feeling weak-kneed. He doesn't know Kristoph, but he's more grateful suddenly then he can express.

"That's all." Klavier confirmed.

Trucy jumps out of her chair and races over to Klavier, throwing her arms around him. "I'm really happy! Thank you for telling us, Klavier! Apollo is alive!"

Edgeworth reached out for the letter. "May I?" He asked.

Klavier nodded and handed it over. Edgeworth skimmed through it, but there was nothing else that could be added to what Klavier had said.

 _Thank goodness,_ Edgeworth thought when he read the lines the Klavier had read to them only moments ago.

He handed the letter back.

They finally had news, and good news at that.

 **(=X=)**

"Man, where have you been?! They told me your plane went down and I thought for sure you were a goner!" Clay Terran said when the tent flap opened and Apollo entered. It'd been four weeks since the plane went down and Apollo was reported missing in action. The journey back, moving between underground point to underground point only when it was determined safe by his hosts along the way, had taken Apollo longer then he'd anticipated.

Apollo was dirty, disheveled, and hungry, but he ignored all of these things. "The plane I was on went down over Munich."

"How'd you miss a meeting with the Gestapo?" Clay asked as Apollo started to fish around in his footlocker for paper. He needs to eat and clean himself up, but first he knows he has to get a letter to Trucy in the mail.

"I had help. You remember Klavier, my roommate from college that I told you about? I met his brother in Munich, and his brother helped get me to the Underground and back here." Apollo replied.

"Really?"

"Yeah, otherwise I think I'd be in a POW camp somewhere." Apollo said, dropping into a chair and beginning to write quickly. He keeps the note short; there's too much to do and he has to talk to his superiors yet. But Trucy needs to know he's okay. He'll write her a longer letter later, after he's cleaned up and eaten and been debriefed.

"Apollo, I want you to know that that is nothing short of a miracle." Clay said.

"You don't have to tell me twice." Apollo agreed, folding the letter over and handing it to Clay. "Post that to Trucy for me, so I can go clean up?"

"Absolutely." Clay replied.

* * *

 **[A/N:]** I really like writing _Fantasia_ , except for the part where every story I've posted so far has spoilers to one degree or another. This one is probably the most egregious offender... so far. I haven't had this big of a spoiler problem since _Night_ got published.

Some things in here are cannon, like the description of the Gavin house, Kristoph's school attendance, and Edgeworth's allusions to what happened to his father, but the scenario is non-cannon. (I wrote an Alternate Universe spinoff of an Alternate Universe story. Isn't that weird?) But I wanted to write it anyway, so here you go. I hope you enjoyed it.

Please review!

12-27-17


	4. The Things That Divide Us

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

4\. It wasn't that Klavier was oblivious to the rumblings of war in Europe. It was just that he hadn't expected Germany's declaration of war to cause him to get expelled.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: The Things that Divide Us**

[Status: Cannon in the context of C.D.]

 _1939_

 _Outside Paris, France_

Monsieur Dagort, headmaster of the St Gerard Boarding School, was in his desk in his office, flipping through the newspaper. The morning so far had been quiet; no unruly students had been sent in, no fights had occurred.

He saw the headline in the newspaper, paused, and read the article quickly. Germany had invaded Poland, and France had declared war on Germany.

"Damned Boches!" Dagort muttered under his breath. He had fought in the Great War, and spent time in a German prison camp. It would not happen again! He decided. Vive la France!

And since there was war declared, there was something else he had to do. He set the newspaper down and got to his feet.

Last year, he hadn't cared what nationality his students were, though the actions in Germany and Austria had made him roll his eyes. The school he ran was recognized as one of the most prestigious in France and the sons of both the nobility and _nouveau riche_ were sent to the St Gerard school to be educated. But last year, politics hadn't mattered and the school had had a successful year. This year, though, things had been different. Politics did matter. Unrest had begun early and he had tried very hard to keep any Germans out of his school. He had started tripling the student fees and that had driven most of the German students and their families away.

There had been one student enrolled in spite of this. The younger son of a family of former nobles in Germany had been enrolled in spite of the fees. The older brother hadn't so much as blinked when he heard the student enrollment fee. He had just payed it. Then again, the younger sibling had been a student last year, too.

But that had been before there was a war. Dagort couldn't overlook this sort of thing anymore. He now had a new rule for his school: no Boches allowed.

(-)

Dagort finds the student in question still in class.

The students in class are hard at work on their English homework. The teacher and some of the more advanced students are helping the other students out with the homework.

Dagort spots Klavier Gavin easily enough. He's one of only two students in the classroom that are blond, and of the two young men, his hair is paler.

Klavier is kneeling in front of the desk of another student, helping him through one of the translations. Geoffery, the student he's helping, is actually Klavier's roommate.

"I have the answer." Geoffery sounded out. "I have the answer! That's it! That's the translation." He wrote it out.

"You wrote it out wrong," Klavier said, setting a silver-ringed hand on his roommate's desk. Klavier is, as always, just skirting the line on what was allowed in the school uniform. All of the young men in the school are required to wear dark suits, white shirts, and blue or green ties to all classes. Klavier is wearing the dark suit, but he wears a purple ribbon at his throat, not a tie. He still wears silver rings on his fingers, a silver earring, and his sunglasses are on top of his head.

"No! I can't have written it wrong!" Geoffery exclaimed. "I sounded it out! Answer!"

"It is spelled wrong." Klavier said, tapping his pencil on the paper. "'Answer' is spelled wrong."

"A-N-S-E-R. Answer." Geoffery told him. "What did I spell wrong?"

Klavier turned the paper around and wrote out the correct English spelling under the sentence. "A-N-S-W-E-R."

Geoffery looked dumbfounded. "But the "w" isn't pronounced!"

"Ja. Welcome to English." Klavier said. Then someone tapped on his shoulder, and he turned to see Dagort standing there. "Ja?" Klavier said, rising to his feet. He's already taller than the headmaster.

"Monsieur Gavin, you're expelled. Pack your things. You're leaving."

Klavier, and those who had been near enough to hear what was said, looked dumbfounded. "Achtung! Why? I haven't done anything."

"You haven't, but your country has." Dagort said. "Germany has started another war. And this school has a new rule: no Boches allowed. Now pack your things and get out."

Klavier was still as a stone for a moment, then he walked past the other man, out of the room. He kept his head up, and looked straight ahead.

Geoffery watched his roommate leave, then stood up and followed Klavier out of the room. When he gets out of the classroom, though, Klavier is nowhere to be seen.

He searches all the usual spots in the school where Klavier is known to hang out, then gives up and goes back to the room he shares with the German student.

When he left the classroom, Klavier had gone straight back to the room he shared with Geoffery. He had taken the key to his trunk from the silver chain around his neck, unlocked the trunk - a smaller one then the one he would take to America two years in the future - and started to pack.

He was still working on this when the door to the room opened. Klavier turned and saw that it was jut Geoffery, and so he turned back to what he was doing.

"You're not really leaving are you?" Geoffery asked.

"What else would should I do?" Klavier asked. He had already changed out of his school uniform, and was in black pants and a purple, button-down shirt, along with a black vest embroidered in gold and silver. He was wearing the re-styled livery collar with the ornate "G" hanging from it.

"I don't know, but you shouldn't let him throw you out."

"If he doesn't want me here, then I will go home." Klavier said.

"He shouldn't get to make you leave just because he doesn't like the country you're from."

"There's no point in staying where I'm not wanted. Besides, I need to make sure that Kristoph is alright. I have to go home." Klavier told him.

Geoffery sat down on his bed. "I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault." Klavier told him.

"But it isn't your fault either." Geoffery replied. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"If you could find a newspaper, I would appreciate it." Klavier said, pausing his packing. "I would like to know what has happened."

Geoffery nodded and slipped out of the room. He returned a few minutes later with the Paris newspaper that he had taken, without permission, from the school library. They read the article about the declaration of war.

There was nothing else either of them could say.

(-)

When he's finished packing, Klavier leaves the room and goes to the headmaster's office. There's one last thing he intends to do before he goes.

The headmaster's secretary isn't at their desk, and Klavier taps on the door matter-of-factly for a moment before he walks in. The headmaster is sitting at his desk, writing furiously. He looked up when the door opened. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be leaving."

"I am. But there's something I have to get back from you first. You took substantial fees from my brother Kristoph for my enrollment here. Since I've been here barely a month, I'm here to get those fees back."

"Those monies are forfeit!"

"No, they are not. You will return them. You have no claim to costs for a service that you agreed to provide and then reneged on. You were paid for a year of my education, room, and board, and you have not provided that. Your claim to the money is the only thing that's forfeit." Klavier replied.

Dagort glared at him. Klavier stared right back. Finally Dagort caved, opened a drawer on his desk, and pulled out the school checkbook. "You weren't the one who paid the fee."

"No, I wasn't. You can make that out to Kristoph Gavin." Klavier said. "And make sure that he can can draw that money at a bank in Munich."

There was silence in the office other then the scratching of teh headmaster's pen on the check. Then he finished, tore it out of the book, and reluctantly handing it to Klavier.

"Thank you." Klavier said. He folded the check, put it in his vest, and left the room.

Two days later, he arrived back in Munich.

(-)

 _In August of 1939, Klavier had begun his second year at one of the most prestigious schools in France, studying the arts and music. Kristoph, meanwhile, had been studying the newspapers back in Germany with growing exasperation. He was not a stupid man by any measure, though, so he kept his exasperation to himself._

 _And then it was September, and Klavier was on the doorstep of the ancestral Gavin home, guitar case in hand and suitcases on the step beside him. "They expelled me." He told Kristoph when the older man answered the door._

 _Kristoph said nothing. They both knew that Klavier's being home had nothing to do with his grades, and everything to do with the fact that Germany had invaded Poland which was allied to France. Instead, he picked up his little brother's suitcases. "Well don't just stand there with the door open." He demanded, and Klavier darted inside, closing the door behind him._

* * *

 **[A/N:]** This is the stuff I think about when I get bored. I had actually toyed with the idea of having Klavier explain some shortened version of these events to Trucy or someone in C.D. proper, but I couldn't think of a good way to squeeze that in, and so here, have the longer version.

The scene at the end is from the second chapter of C.D. I was trying to look up French names for this chapter, and along the way discovered that Kristoph - other then the fact his name is spelled with a "K" and not a "C" - has the proper German variant of the name Christopher. Which just makes me wonder again what exactly the translators were getting at when they were translating, or, more specifically, why they decided to walk back the German thing later on.

Anyway, here, have another update for Fantasia. Boche is another ethnic slur for Germans. I think there's really nothing else that I need to mention here but as always, if you have any questions, let me know.

Please review!

1-19-18


	5. Day of Wrath and Doom Impending

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

 **Summary** : 5. Munich, November 1939. Herr Rosenbaum was an old friend of the Gavin family, which was the only reason Kristoph agreed to buy his factory.

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Day of Wrath and Doom Impending**

 _[Status: Cannon in the context of C.D.]_

 _November, 1939_

 _Munich, Germany_

It was only chance that they met on the street. Kristoph does most of his work from his office at home, though about twice a week he goes out to send a telegram to one corner of Germany or the other.

Heinrich Rosenbaum was no longer working at the bank by this point. He was still keeping an eye on his company, which specialized in paper products. The factory had been an inheritance from his grandfather, and his grandfather had used it to build the family's fortune.

But Heinrich had liked numbers more than he liked paper, so he had gone into banking and left the factory in charge of a foreman. Since he had been let go from his position as one of the vice-presidents of the bank, he's had more time to mind the factory.

He was trying to stay positive, but it was getting harder to do so all the time. All he needed was for one of his employees to denounce him before he would be forced to leave the company altogether. This was part of the reason he had cut back of the number of employees he had. The other reason was that many people refused to pay for the things they ordered from him anymore, since he was Jewish, and he had begun to wonder what to do.

Really, he had begun to wonder how much longer this could go one before he and his family would have to leave.

It was a rainy day when he met Kristoph Gavin on the street. Gavin was wearing his Ulster coat ove rhis blue suit, and using his cane, as he was wont to do on days when it rained. He nodded politely at the other man. "Herr Rosenbaum."

"Herr Gavin." Heinrich replied. He was about to continue on his way, but then he stopped and turned back around. "Herr Gavin, do you have a moment?"

Kristoph paused, and turned back to face him. "I suppose I do. Certainly I have nothing pressing to handle."

It's hard for Heinrich, sometimes, to see Kristoph, because he remembers when Kristoph became a cripple, remembers when a few years after that, Klarissa Gavin had died, leaving her oldest son to care for the younger. He always wondered what Kristoph would have been like if he'd actually been given a chance to grow up; if the world had not crashed in and dropped so many things on him that had forced him to go from child to adult overnight.

Kristoph's careful speech and graceful smile are gestures that say nothing. It's a wise trait to have in these times. But Heinrich was disconcerted one day when he looked up and realized he can't remember the boy who Kristoph used to be, before he put that mask of cool elegance and careful planning on and became one with it.

He puts those thoughts away. They benefit no one now. "I'd like to speak to you about some business matters."

The blond considered it, and nodded.

They end up on the Rosenbaum's front porch, where they will be out of the rain. No one is out to overhear them. Heinrich won't even think about asking Kristoph in. It's too much of a risk these days. And if there are going to be risks, he needs them to be calculated.

"I'd like to interest you in a business proposition." Heinrich said. "I'm looking to sell my company."

Blue eyes meet brown ones for a long moment. But Kristoph doesn't need explanations.

"You've always been a good friend to my family." Kristoph said finally. "I will buy your company." He doesn't want to buy it. He doesn't want to be a businessman, and he sometimes wished he could go back in time and keep his ancestors – brilliant businessmen, all of them – from spreading Gavin money all over investments in Germany, money that he's now working to remove from all of those businesses.

Heinrich nodded. "You are an attorney. Will you draw up the papers for the sale?"

"If you're going to sell, you should really have an attorney of your own to look over any papers I draw up." The response is automatic, and Kristoph says it before he can think it over all the way. Even he has attorneys to aid him in business matters like this.

Heinrich gave him a long look. "Where would I get an attorney?"

Kristoph looked away. "You're right. Give me the statements of profit from your business, and then give me a couple of days to get the paperwork drawn up."

"Thank you, Herr Gavin."

There was a long pause. "I'm so sorry, Herr Rosenbaum."

(-)

 _Several Years Earlier_

 _Germany_

Heinrich Rosenbaum hadn't been expecting this.

Neither, for that matter, had Frau Klarissa Gavin, who was beside herself. She buried her head in her free hand; her long blonde hair covering her face. "This wasn't supposed to happen." She's frantic, but quiet about it. Little Klavier is sleeping on her free shoulder, having been worn out on the trip here. "It was supposed to be a simple trip! An outing for Kristoph and his uncle!"

Heinrich put a hand on her shoulder. The waiting room of the hospital smells like antiseptic, and everything is very quiet. Nurses in their clean white outfits walk by.

The immediate shock of an ordinance going off in this town, about an hour's travel from Munich, has abated. The dead have been laid out in the morgue, the wounded taken to be cared for. Earlier that afternoon, Heinrich had watched Klavier in this same waiting room while Klarissa went to identify her brother, who had been caught in the explosion. He would be buried in the same cemetery Klarissa's parents were buried in.

Kristoph had been further from the blast radius, so he had survived, but not without injury. Presently he was sleeping off the anesthesia from having a deep cut on his hand stitched back together.

He had no back or head injuries, but his leg had been twisted and pinned by rubble, and the doctors thought his knee had been damaged, but they wouldn't be able to gauge the extent of that damage until he was able to walk again.

For now there was nothing they could do but wait.

Heinrich looked out the window and let his mind wander to his fiancée, dreaming about her green eyes and dark hair. His dreams about what she was going to wear to their wedding were interrupted when he heard Klarissa gasp, and looked up to see men in Nazi uniforms coming down the hall.

"What are they doing here?" Klarissa hissed, holding Klavier tighter. Her grip got so tight that she startled him awake.

"Mama! Mama!" He cried, trying to get her to put him down, or loosen her grip. Klarissa either hadn't heard him or ignored him, clutching him like she expected the Nazis to demand that she hand over her child.

"I heard that the Fuhrer was coming." Heinrich said flatly. He'd hoped that his informer had been wrong, but that didn't seem to be the case. "He wanted to visit the injured, because he thinks this is an act of aggression by the rest of Europe."

"Visit!?" Klarissa spat. "If my husband were alive, that Viennese gutter scum wouldn't be allowed anywhere near my children!"

The Nazis are very close now. "Klarissa, control yourself!" Heinrich ordered. "You don't know who can overhear you."

She looked ready to retort, but then broke down coughing. She buried her head in her free arm, thrust Klavier at him, and darted away. Her diagnosis of consumption had come earlier that year, and she lived in dread that one of her children would catch it.

"Mama's gone." Klavier said, pensively looking in the direction his mother had vanished.

"She'll be back." Heinrich said, rocking the toddler back and forth. He went to stand by the window, praying that he wouldn't be noticed. He didn't want to attract the attention of these people.

After a few minutes of being rocked, Klavier falls back asleep. Behind him, Heinrich senses the movement of the Nazis. It's disconcerting, and he feels like a mouse in a room full of cats.

Klarissa hasn't come back, but depending on how long it had taken her to get her coughing under control, it doesn't surprise him. And anyway, its better that she stays away while the Nazis are there. She might say something rash.

The Nazis and Hitler are getting ready to leave when one of the senior officials pulls away from the group and comes closer to Heinrich.

He's sweating bullets and he knows it. If he turns around, they'll know exactly what he is, so he looks off into the distance out the window and keeps rocking Klavier.

"What an adorable Aryan child." The official says, looking at Klavier approvingly. "Does he have blue eyes?"

This question feels like a trap. But Heinrich doesn't know what to do other than answer it. "Yes."

"You're not related." This is somewhere between a question and a statement.

"No. I'm minding him until his mother gets back. She needed to step out." Heinrich said, and hoped that the fact that he was a nervous wreck wasn't obvious.

The official drew closer, and Heinrich was sure this was going to be his end. But the man stops, and pats Klavier on the head, and looks immensely pleased as he does. Then he moved off to join the rest of the entourage.

Two thoughts go through Heinrich's head as the Nazis depart and he tries not to hyperventilate. The first is, he's really glad that the official never picked up on the fact that Heinrich was a Jew, because there would have been lots of uncomfortable questions that would have had to be answered. The second is that he's very, very glad that Klarissa had been elsewhere for that, because she might have had a breakdown.

Not that he would blame her; he was feeling a lot like having one himself right now.

Heinrich remembered a Latin chant he'd heard once, long ago when he'd toured Europe. It had been after the Great War ended, and he'd been young and wanted to see the world.

He had stopped at a church that still bore the scars of war, and there was one priest, and some villagers, who had been working on repairing the church since the war happened, but there hadn't been much money to complete the work. They had chanted as they worked, " _Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saelclum in favilla, teste David cum Sibylla."_

He had asked them what it meant, and had been told, 'Day of wrath and doom impending, David's word with Sibyl's blending, heaven and earth in ashes ending.'

Heinrich hasn't thought of it in years, but now it won't leave his mind. There was more to it, but he can only remember the first verse, and it feels like a prophecy now.

 _Day of wrath and doom impending…_

 _Heaven and Earth in ashes ending…_

(-)

 _Munich, Germany_

 _November 1939_

Kristoph is as good as his word, and has the papers drown up and ready two days after he's given the documents he requested. The price he offers is fair, and he explains all the terms of the agreement carefully, like a good attorney.

Heinrich doesn't care about the terms, and he can't stand to be in front of the younger man's office desk listening to him. He wants to snatch the pen out of Kristoph's hand and sign the papers and be done with it.

This factory was his grandfather's whole life's work. He reminds himself that if his Grandfather were still alive, he would tell Heinirch to put his family first, and not to worry about a silly factory. His Grandfather had been pragmatic like that. This way it will all be out of Heinrich's hands, and he can have money ready in case he and his family need to flee. Already his children have not been allowed to attend school, and he knows things will only get worse.

But it still feels like he's betrayed his Grandfather's trust somehow.

Finally Kristoph finished and offered him the pen.

Heinrich signed his name, added the date, 09 November 1939, and Kristoph signed and notarized it.

"You're welcome to stay on and run the place as long as you like." Kristoph said as he opened one of his desk drawers and tucked the papers inside. "I'll pay you a salary for doing it. I have…many other things I have to work on."

"Thank you, Herr Gavin."

"I'll see to it that you have your money by the end of the day today." Kristoph said flatly.

He thanked the younger man again and departed. Outside the Gavin home, he paused, and then decided to go in to the factory.

He had nothing better to do.

(-)

In spite of the fact he's lost his job at the bank, Heinrich still liked numbers, with their plain and simple rules that made sense. They give him a feeling of stability in a world that's getting madder by the day.

That night, he stayed after the employees had gone home. The books need to be tidied up a little, and he had nothing else that needed to be done. Besides, this way it will be easier on Kristoph when he's gone.

Heinrich pauses and thinks that last statement over again. He's only toyed with the idea of leaving Germany. He's never acknowledged it before.

But tonight he does.

And then the mob comes down the street…

(-)

Kristoph is not very familiar with this part of Munich, and he has to consult the papers from that morning to find the address of the place he's looking for.

He'd inquired with Frau Rosenbaum earlier that evening, and she had told him that Herr Rosenbaum was still at the office.

He's been out of the train station for exactly five minutes when he starts to think that coming here might have been a mistake. There are bands of troublemakers everywhere, smashing windows and looting the small store fronts.

But he is here, and he has the money for Herr Rosenbaum safe in his coat.

Kristoph walks past the troublemakers, who look at him curiously but ignore him once they get a good look at him.

(-)

The sound of glass breaking is the first sign Heinrich has that anything is wrong. The initial noise is followed with the sounds of more glass breaking, and he races out of the room to see what's happening.

Outside, three men are throwing rocks.

"Stop! This is a German owned factory!" Heinrich cried. He didn't know what was going on, but he could guess that as a Jew his former business was in the crossfire because of him.

"Sure it is," One of the attackers scoffed.

And then Kristoph Gavin appeared behind the trio. "As a matter of fact, it is my business you are destroying." He said, adjusting his glasses. His jaw twitched.

"This man has run it for years," One of the attackers said, gesturing at Heinrich.

Kristoph pulled the agreement he had signed just that morning out of his satchel and thrust it at the man. "Read the first paragraph."

The man looked at it.

"Out loud, please." Kristoph ordered. And so the man did, reading the agreement to purchase so that his cohorts could hear it, while Kristoph stood there glowering at him, and looking every inch the "pure" German he was supposed to be.

Heinrich had to appreciate Kristoph's flair for drama.

(-)

It's quite late in the evening by the time Kristoph gets home. They had had to call the police, wait for the police to arrive and handle the vandals. Then Kristoph had given the money to Herr Rosenbaum and suggested they both go home for the night. The conductor had thrown a fit about Heinrich getting on the train to come back home with him. Kristoph had merely ordered the conductor to shut up and get out of the way. Then when the conductor had made the mistake of addressing him as Herr Gavin, he immediately corrected the man and demanded that the conductor refer to him as Pfalzgraf Gavin going forward. It's the first time in his life he's ever ordered anyone to refer to him by his now-obsolete title, but it's been a long night, and he expects to be shown some respect.

Kristoph remembers all the stories his father told him about the duties of nobility, and he is quite sure it's not the duty of nobility to take orders from commoners, especially stupid orders from the king of commoners back in Berlin.

Once he's seen Herr Rosenbaum safely to his house, he crosses the road and enters his house.

And then, suddenly, he remembers Klavier, and runs up the stairs. He has no idea where his brother was going to be tonight, and at the top of the stairs, he can't hear any guitar music. Kristoph swore under his breath though, realistically, neither of them are in any danger. He doesn't remember that in the moment, though.

When he throws open the doors to the library, Klavier looks up curiously from the music pages spread out on the table in front of him. "What is it?" he asked.

Kristoph doesn't answer for the moment, and it alarms Klavier, who sets his guitar to the side and gets to his feet. "Kris, what's wrong?"

Kristoph manages to regain his composure. "Nothing. Nothing is wrong."

"Something is wrong." Klavier insisted. He wasn't about to let his brother off that easily.

Kristoph ignored him and turned away.

"You're limping!" Klavier pointed out.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Kristoph spat. Really, Klavier doesn't deserve it, but it's been a long day and he's at his wit's end.

Klavier is across the room in what seems like a moment, but he's faster than Kristoph to start with, and he doesn't limp. "What happened?"

"Too much walking." Kristoph replied. It wasn't really a lie, if you were willing to accept that running up a flight of stairs was a type of walking. "I'm going to go to bed. Stay in tonight, please."

"I was going to. I'm trying to compose."

That would be enough to keep Klavier busy. "That's fine. Just…stay in tonight."

"Is something wrong?"

Kristoph paused. Is something wrong? Or is he overacting to a few riots? "I don't know. Please, just do what I tell you and stay inside."

Klavier seemed to realize that something had happened that had thrown his brother off balance. "Alright. I won't go out until the sun is up. Will that be enough?"

"It should be." Kristoph said. "Good night."

"Good night."

 _Day of wrath and doom impending…_

 _Heaven and earth in ashes ending…_

* * *

 **[A/N:]** So…this was NOT how I planned to spend my evening…the Rosenbaums have been kind of background characters for awhile in C.D. Now we get to look at the relationship between them and the Gavins in a little more detail.

Ever since the backstory about how Kristoph became a cripple, I've thought this is the sort of things the Nazis would have used for propaganda purposes, probably crying about how put-upon Germany was, look, even in times of peace they aren't safe! Or some such nonsense. For what it's worth, while writing C.D., I went to research the bombing raids on Munich, and one of the first results was a news story from a few years ago about an unexploded WWII ordinance that was found.

Frau Gavin, tell us how you really feel about Hitler. Even I was a little surprised by the depth of her hatred. Wow. Maybe that's where Kristoph gets it from. And yes, Hitler was actually from Austria, not Germany, though he fought with the Germans in World War I.

I don't know what else to say about this one. I wasn't really intending to delve into Kristallnacht, but here you go. I wanted to use the seven deadly sins as a theme for this chapter, but that got scrapped by the end of section one, and I went with _Dies Irae_ as a theme instead.

If you have any other questions, please let me know.

Please review.


	6. Jordan's a Hard Road to Travel

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

 **Summary** : "German" does not equal "Nazi". The town Phoenix Wright lives in has a pretty loose grasp on this concept, which is why they think that Phoenix is a Nazi lover.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Jordan's a Hard Road to Travel**

 _December, 1941_

"I'm going to figure out how you did that," Anna said determinedly. She looked about ready to turn Trucy's hat inside out. She remained convinced that her friend had some hidden pocket in her hat that allowed her to pull off her magic tricks.

Trucy just smiled. "You can try, but a magician never reveals her secrets!" She announced. It was lunchtime at school, and in the lunchroom that doubled as an extra classroom when it was needed, she was showing off her newest tricks to her friends. "I have another new one, too, but I need three balls to do it. I know! You can come by after school and I'll show you!"

"I can't come," Laura said. "I have to help Momma take care of Carl." Laura's new little brother had been born just a few weeks before.

Anna frowned. "My mother's expecting me home, too," She said with a sigh as she handed the hat back to Trucy.

Trucy turned to look at the last girl at the table. "Ruby, do you want to come over? If not, I'll bring the balls tomorrow."

Ruby ducked her head apologetically. "I don't think that my father would like it if I came over."

"Why not? He never minded before." Trucy asked.

Ruby bit her lip. "My Dad said that your Dad is a Nazi lover." She didn't add that he didn't want her associating with the Wright family anymore.

Trucy looked confused. The only thing she knew about Nazis was what she saw in the newspapers when the war over in Europe was discussed. "Not true. Daddy doesn't love Nazis."

"But there's one living with you." Anna pointed out.

Trucy looked more confused. "Klavier? He isn't a Nazi. And he's really nice. He's like a second big brother!"

"But he's from Germany."

The school bell rang before Trucy had a chance to reply, and the students filed quietly out of the room and back to classes.

But she didn't forget what Anna had said. After school, she detoured on the way home and went to the Wright & Co Law Office in town.

Phoenix was in his office, typing out a document on his typewriter when Trucy came into the room. "Hi Daddy!" She said cheerfully.

"Hi Trucy. How was school?" He asked as Trucy dropped her books into one of the chairs in front of his desk. Then she perched on the desk.

"It was okay." Trucy said vaguely. "Daddy, Klavier isn't a Nazi, is he?"

Phoenix stopped typing and looked at his daughter. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Someone today at school said that Klavier was a Nazi, and I said he wasn't, and she said that he was from Germany. But Uncle Miles is from Germany too, and he isn't a Nazi." Trucy sounded confused.

Phoenix had been hoping it wouldn't come to this. He would have like to believe that this town is better than what it is, but so far he's discovered that not to be the case.

The town does not like Klavier. He's German, and that's all they need to know about him to know they don't like him. Especially since Germany had declared war on the United States.

He thinks it has something to do with how small the town is. Most people are born here, grow up here, live here their whole lives and die here. Newcomers aren't readily accepted, and he knows that the war isn't helping.

"You're right. Neither of them are Nazis. But…" Phoenix trailed off. Now he was the uncertain one. How was he supposed to explain this? "But some people hear that someone is from Germany, and …" In this town, they hear Klavier's accent when he speaks, and stop listening to him. "Some people think that because the people in charge of Germany are Nazis that everyone from Germany is a Nazi."

"But they aren't!"

"You're right." Phoenix agreed. "They aren't."

Trucy looked much happier at this. "I'm glad. I like Klavier. He's like having another big brother."

Phoenix chuckled. "Well, good. I'm glad to hear that." Because he's aware that with the war on, Klavier might be with them for awhile.

Trucy slid off the desk and picked up her books. "I'm going to go to the upstairs office!" The room upstairs was one that she had selected as her own office in the building. There were too other offices on the ground floor, plus the reception area.

"Alright. I'll get you when it's time to go, okay?"

"Okay!" Trucy agreed cheerfully, and darted out of the room. Phoenix watched her go, then turned his attention back to the document he was working on. He made a mental note to thank Edgeworth later for all the time he's spent telling Trucy about life in Berlin. He hadn't been sure how the other man had appreciated the questions, but Edgeworth hadn't declined to answer any of them.

He hadn't expected it to pay off like this, but Trucy was a smart girl. He should have expected her to make the connection.

(-)

 _April, 1942_

Apollo had just set out the door to head to work one morning when he suddenly darted back into the house.

Klavier has been unable to find work so far. He's in the kitchen washing the breakfast dishes when he hears the door and turns around. "Herr Forehead?"

Everyone else was getting ready to leave. Trucy was upstairs gathering her school books. Phoenix, at the dining room table, had just finished organizing the papers he was going to need for the trial that afternoon and was getting ready to pack everything up and take it to his office.

Apollo darted over to Phoenix and whispered to him, "I need you to come outside and look at something."

"Really?" Phoenix asked.

"Yes. You need to see this. Right now." Apollo said. But he didn't raise his voice.

Phoenix followed Apollo outside. The younger man walked off the porch until he had a good view of the front of the house, and the gestured to it. In bright pink chalk, the words "Nazi Lover" are scrawled in big letters across the white paint.

Phoenix did a double take, then looked exasperated. "Really?"

Apollo didn't look any happier. "I thought you needed to see this before Trucy did."

"Was anyone out here when you came out?" Phoenix asked.

"Not that I saw. Of course, they'd be dumb to stick around. It's daylight now." Apollo pointed out.

"I'll go call Edgeworth." Phoenix said, turning to re-enter the house. "Are you going on to work?"

"I have to, or I'll be late." Apollo said.

Phoenix nodded and went back inside. _I thought I was more respected in this town than this,_ He thought as he went to phone and asked to be connected first to Edgeworth's house, in case the other man hadn't left for work. When the phone kept ringing, he finally asked to be connected to Edgeworth's office instead.

He was trying as hard as he could to ignore the curious look that Klavier kept shooting at him. But when he got off the phone, he knew he'd have to tell Klavier what happened.

He wasn't looking forward to doing it.

(-)

"I do appreciate you not allowing Larry to cover this," Edgeworth said as he stood on the front lawn of the Wright home, inspecting the writing on the house.

"Well, I figure pictures should not be in the newspaper about something like this, and Larry always likes to have no less than two pictures submitted with his articles," Spark Brushel said he jotted down some notes for his story. "Not that that's a bad thing, but in this case I felt like it shouldn't be done." Detective Gumshoe was investigating the edges of the property, looking for clues as to who could have done this.

"I'm not going to publish the color of the writing or what was written," Brushel continued. "So if someone comes up with those details they'll either have to have seen it or done it."

"Thank you," Edgeworth said. "There's not a lot of traffic out here, so I don't know how many people could have seen it."

"I can't believe that someone would do this to Phoenix Wright of all people." Brushel said. "If half the rumors we get over the wire at the paper are true, there's no way that Mr. Wright would want anything to do with the Nazis."

"I would agree with that," Edgeworth said. "But they're doing this to Wright because Klavier is here."

"That German kid?" Brushel asked. "No way. I met him last year when he came by to see if we had any openings at the newspaper. He's way too good-tempered to be associated with the Nazis."

"If only the rest of this town agreed with you." Edgeworth replied.

"Aren't you German?"

"I'm actually American, but I hold dual citizenship in both countries." The prosecutor replied.

"I'll pass any word that comes into me wt the paper along to you," Brushel promised, closing his notebook. He's already composing the byline in his head.

"I appreciate that," Edgeworth replied, turning away. "Detective! Have you found anything?"

(-)

Klavier tends to hide his emotions, usually behind a smile.

It's probably, Phoenix thinks as he comes into the living room where Klavier is sitting, the only way he can get by in this town. Things would probably have been easier on the German if he had stayed in some larger town, where the fact that he was a foreigner would have been less noticeable.

This morning, though, Klavier isn't smiling. He looks downright miserable.

He speaks before Phoenix can. "I will leave, if you want me too."

"I'm not sure you can. You were paroled to me, remember?" Phoenix asked as he took a seat in one of the chairs. He hated having to bring it up, but it was true.

Klavier looked at the floor. "Oh."

How very much like this stupid town to make the jump from Enemy Alien to Nazi, Phoenix thought suddenly. Klavier is the only German most people in this town have ever interacted with, so he's the one they blame for the war and all the other sins Germany has committed. The logical suspect.

The unexpected thought makes him wince.

" _The money the school raised to help pay for the new heaters was stolen. You were the only one who was out of class that day, Phoenix. That's why we want you to tell the truth and give the money back." The administrator of the small school told him. The rest of the class was watching with unabashed interest; the matter was so important that the administrator had actually come to the classroom, rather than call Phoenix out of class._

 _Phoenix, about nine years old, can't believe what he was hearing. "But I wouldn't steal the money! I would never do that!"_

" _You're the only logical suspect."_

"It's not your fault." Phoenix told Klavier with more force than he'd intended.

"I do not think that that is true." Klavier said quietly.

"Well it is." Phoenix said. "You're not responsible for other people's actions. Just yours."

"If I had not been here-"

"Objection!" Phoenix shouted, pointing at the blond, then dropped his hand and looked sheepish. "Sorry. Force of habit. Don't tell yourself that. You are not responsible for the actions of other people. This is not your fault."

Phoenix wasn't sure that the German actually believed him or not, but after a moment Klavier nodded.

I know what it's like, Klavier, to feel like no one is on your side, Phoenix thinks as Klavier rises and goes back into the kitchen presumably to finish the dishes from that morning. But he isn't sure how to explain that without giving a lot of history that he doesn't really want to go into.

"Klavier!" He said suddenly, and the blond turned back to face him, his expression neutral. "You'll always have a place here." Phoenix promised him.

The German looked down at the floor again, then looked at Phoenix. "Thank you."

Phoenix gave him one short nod. "You're welcome." He said, and he meant it.

Klavier went back into the kitchen.

Phoenix went outside to see if Edgeworth had what he needed so that he could get on with washing the chalk off the house. At least it's just chalk. Trucy had been informed of what had happened, but ended up having to depart for school before Edgeworth and Gumshoe arrived.

(-)

 _He's too old to cry, really, but Phoenix can't help it. No one in class believes him, even though he was nowhere near the office and didn't take the money even if he did sit out of class yesterday._

" _Objection!" Someone shouts, and Phoenix is surprised to see it's Miles Edgeworth._

" _You can't accuse someone without evidence," Miles says, pointing at the teacher. "Suspicion isn't proof!"_

 _By the time Miles is finished, the administrator is no longer blaming Phoenix. She apologizes to him, in front of the rest of the class, and departs._

 _Phoenix sniffles, trying to regain some composure. Miles looks pleased at the outcome._

 _During recess he finds Miles sitting under a tree, reading. Miles looks up when Phoenix approaches him. "Thank you for helping me." Phoenix tells him._

" _It's what defense attorneys do! They protect people who are innocent." Miles replied. "Someday, when I grow up, I'm going to be a defense attorney, just like my dad!"_

 _This intrigues Phoenix enough to make him forget the troubles of the day. "Really?"_

" _Really! Sit down. I'll tell you about my Dad's last trial."_

 _Awed, Phoenix sits, and spends the entire recess listening to Miles' stories of his Dad's work as a defense attorney._

* * *

 **[A/N:]** The graffiti incident in this chapter was a scene that I wanted to work into C.D., but I couldn't figure out where it would fit. Hence, this chapter. Phoenix doesn't get a lot of time to shine in CD proper, so I wanted him to get an opportunity somewhere.

The title for this chapter comes from an old American Folk song, "Jordan's a Hard road to Travel. I liked the first verse and the chorus, which I found online in an article by Lyle Lofgren:

 _I'm gonna sing you a brand new song,  
It's all the truth for certain;  
We cain't live high, but we can get by,  
And get on the other side of Jordan._

 _Oh, pull off your overcoat and roll up your sleeves,  
Jordan's a hard road to travel;  
Oh, pull off your overcoat and roll up your sleeves,  
Oh, Jordan is a hard road to travel, I believe._

I felt it sort of fit Phoenix here. (Yes, for my non-American readers, "cain't" is not a typo there.)

So...let's talk about some of the stuff in this chapter.

By Chapter 34 of C.D. we can see that Klavier is a victim of the Nazis too, though not a "shipped off to the death camps" victim, but a victim nonetheless. He was going to be sent to Russia in an attempt to achieve a madman's dream: conquering a country where General Winter is biding his time, waiting to come out and help. As is typical of Stupid Plans To Invade Russia (See also, "Napoleon's Stupid Plan to Invade Russia"), Germany got curbstomped, as we've already covered in C.D. Klavier is separated from the only family he has left in an attempt to spare him from this fate. Arguably, many, many people during WWII had it worse, but Klavier's not gotten off easily either. At least, tht's the perspective that I have of the situation. And he lives in a town where he's reviled for being German, because in this town, Germans are all evil Nazis.

It would be easy to say that if we were in this situation, we wouldn't blame Klavier ... but I know where the townspeople are coming from (if we're honest, we all know. Human nature is almost as messy as war.) These people have lived in this little town their whole life, they all know people were in the Great War which was started by Germany, and now they're involved in another war where their loved ones are being sent over to Europe to fight...Germany (and also Italy, to be fair, but Italy was bad at war. I touched on that in Chapter 39 of C.D.) They want someone to blame. Klavier is the only German they interact with, so he gets to be the scapegoat. It's easier to blame the person they can see rather then some shadowy Nazi leaders back in Berlin. Edgeworth is a dual citizen, and never denies that he lived in Germany, but the town seems to have a blind spot for him. It's probably because they know him, and they know what kind of person Edgeworth is. But they won't give Klavier that same chance. Realistically, there's nothing Klavier could have done to change events anymore than Edgeworth could, but that's the emotion vs logic argument.

I'm not sure how else to explain this, so I hope that was clear. If not, feel free to question me about it and maybe it can be cleared up more.

Phoenix's perspective on all of this is that he knows what it's like to feel like no one is on your side, and he knows Edgeworth, and he did go to college, which was less common then than it is now. So has traveled a little bit and seen a little more than most people. So, he understands it a bit more.

I hope that's everything I was supposed to say here.

Please review.


	7. Once in A Blue Moon

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

 **Summary** : Being confined to bed doesn't happen to him very often, fortunately, because Kristoph doesn't like it at all when it does happen.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Once in A Blue Moon**

[Status: Canon in the context of C.D.]

 _Summer, 1940_

 _Munich, Germany_

The sun was sending light in under the curtains when Kristoph opened his eyes that morning and reached out to turn his alarm clock off. But it was summer, after all. The sun was up earlier every day. He rolled over and reached for his glasses on the night stand, then sat up.

Or, tried to sit up. That was when he felt the sudden, sharp pain in his knee, and realized that it had locked up overnight.

Kristoph laid back down, perturbed. At least Klavier was home from school this time. It would make the day a little easier - at the very least he would be able to avoid trying to go down the stairs to get to the kitchen.

He was trying to puzzle out what he might have done yesterday that could have caused this to happen to him, because in spite of the rain yesterday he didn't think he'd done that much walking, when he heard the sound of footsteps outside his room in the hallway. "Klavier!" He called sharply.

The door opened, and Klavier stood there, dressed in dark pants and a purple shirt embroidered around the shoulders and wrists in gold. He was holding several sheets of music paper in one arm; Kristoph purchased music paper by the case when his brother was home. "Yes?"

"Come in here. My knee is locked up again." Kristoph sounded cross, but Klavier was not concerned. Kristoph was usually cross when his knee kept him confined him to bed. Klavier set the sheets of music paper he had had with him down on the foot of the bed and then walked to the window and pulled the curtains back, letting the brilliant summer sun in. Kristoph's room was on the corner of the house, so there were three windows. He opened the curtains on all of the windows, and then picked up Kristoph's blue robe from the plush armchair near the bed and brought it back to his brother.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Klavier asked, picking the music papers up again.

"Rolls, jam if there's any left, coffee, and any of the ham left over from last night," Kristoph said. "But first, bring me the stack of letters on the left-hand side of my desk so I can start reading those while I wait."

Klavier walked closer to his brother and held out his hand. Kristoph pulled open the drawer to his nightstand, pulled out a small ring of keys, and handed them to Klavier.

Klavier didn't mind the order. If Kristoph had the letters, he wouldn't notice how long breakfast was taking. He knew which key unlocked Kristoph's office and was back a moment later with the letters. He gave them and the keys to his brother.

"I'll get breakfast," Klavier said.

"Thank you." Kristoph said matter-of-factly, opening one of the envelopes. He'd already wrapped himself in his robe, and managed to get himself upright against the headboard and get a pillow under his bad knee.

Klavier left, but left the door open when he goes. He went back to his room to drop off the music paper, and then he went downstairs by what had once been the flight of servant's stairs, since they're closer to his room than the main staircase is.

He went into the kitchen, but rather than go through the refrigerator and the cupboards, Klavier kept going, straight out the kitchen door. If he had gone out the front door, there was a chance that Kristoph would have heard him leave. He knows what Kristoph will want after breakfast, and while Kristoph is busy with the letters, Klavier also knew that this will be his perfect opportunity to plan ahead.

Klavier returned a few minutes later with a newspaper. He dropped it on the table, then got out a tray and started the coffee. Then he starts assembling breakfast for both of them.

(-)

Klavier brings the tray upstairs a few minutes later. There's enough food on it for both of them. Kristoph is still engrossed in one of the letters, though several others are unfolded and lying face down on the bed. These will be the ones that Kristoph has read and is finished with.

Kristoph looks up when Klavier appears in the doorway with the tray, and he set the letter he was reading down. Klavier put the tray down on the night stand, using the edge of it to nudge the alarm clock out of the way, and dragged the plush chair over. He had brought the newspaper with him upstairs, but it's under his arm. He sat down and tucked the paper into the chair next to him, and reached for a roll.

"Anything of interest?" Klavier asked, breaking the roll open and spreading jam on it. Then he handed the jam knife to his older brother.

"The usual, mostly. I'll need my small desk after breakfast." Kristoph said, setting the jam knife down and reached for the coffeepot under the coozy on the tray. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip of it, then reached for a plate and placed a roll and some ham on it. Then he picked the jam knife up again. "I'll spend today on the correspondence."

"I'll bring that stuff in after breakfast." Klavier told him. He swallowed the last bite of the roll into his mouth, and starting picking at the ham, tearing pieces off and popping them into his mouth.

"We do own plates and silverware, Klavier," Kristoph said pointedly. "Though I notice you only brought one set." Klavier grinned at him; he ignored it.

"I brought two coffee cups." Klavier said, pouring himself a cup and adding cream.

Kristoph rolled his eyes. "Yes, thank you for not drinking it straight out of the pot. I do appreciate your restraint."

Klavier grinned again, and turned himself so that he was sitting sideways in the chair, knees over one of the arms, holding his cup in both hands. Kristoph sighed but said nothing. After a moment, Klavier reached for another roll and started to nibble on it.

The pair finished the meal in companionable silence, the only sounds being the clink of Kristoph's silverware on his plate and the sound of coffee cups being picked up or set down.

When Kristoph was finished, he set his cup down on the tray and waited. Klavier was still finishing up his coffee and taking his time in doing so. Kristoph picked up the letter he had set down earlier and went back to reading it while he waited for Klavier to finish.

When Klavier finally added his cup to the tray and started to pick it up, Kristoph said, "Be sure and get-" He stopped mid-statement as Klavier tossed the newspaper he had smuggled upstairs earlier to him. "Thank you."

"I'll bring in your small desk in when I'm done with the dishes." Klavier promised, picking up the tray and carrying it out of the room.

(-)

When the dishes are done, Klavier went back upstairs, got the keys again and went to Kristoph's office. From a small trunk tucked out of the way in the corner of the room, he retrieved a small table with short legs that could be unfolded and be set on a bed to allow someone to have a writing surface. He brings this, along with several sheets of letter paper, envelopes, and one of the fuller fountain pens he found in the desk drawer into Kristoph's room and set everything up for Kristoph. Then Klavier went to the library.

For a change around the Gavin house, doors are open. The library door is open, and so is the door to Kristoph's room. Usually the door to Kristoph's bedroom is locked, and Kristoph is in his office with the door closed but not locked. Klavier goes back and forth between his room and the library, but depending on what he's doing, the door to either room will be closed so that he can play his guitar. The library isn't that far from Kristoph's room, so if his brother calls for him, Klavier will be able to hear it. Today he skips his music practice and composing and instead settles down to spend the day reading.

It was almost eleven o'clock when he heard Kristoph calling for him again. Klavier closed his book and went to Kristoph's room. His older brother has several letters and a sheet of paper for him. "Go post these letters and this," Kristoph held up the top sheet, "send this as a telegram. I've written the name of the person it should be addressed to."

"Alright." Klavier said, taking the documents from his brother.

"And bring up a pitcher of water before you go." Kristoph ordered.

Klavier did so, and then departed to mail the letter and send off the telegram.

(-)

By the time Klavier comes upstairs with lunch after his assigned errands are done, Kristoph is lying back on his pillow with a hand over his eyes.

"Headache?" Klavier asked as he came into the room with the lunch tray.

"Yes; but Sveltsen is a particular kind of headache all by himself." Kristoph replied. He took his hand off his eyes and put his glasses back on. "He thinks that I'm merely suggested what I think should be done, not that I'm telling him what I expect him to do."

"You could fire him." Sveltson, business manager for a large trade house that the Gavin family held stakes in in Berlin, had been a problem for Kristoph as far back as Klavier could remember.

"Don't tempt me. If I wasn't convinced that whatever replacement I would have to go dig up in Berlin would be worse, I would have gotten rid of him already." Kristoph sat up further, leaning against his pillows, as Klavier set the tray on the bed.

"How's your knee?"

"Improving, I suppose." Kristoph did not sound happy. "It still hurts to move, but I can move it a little more." He had barely been able to move it at all this morning.

"That's a good sign." Klavier replied.

"It is," Kristoph admitted grudgingly. He wouldn't be happy until he was back on his feet.

(-)

By the time dinner has rolled around, Kristoph is able to stand up and get across his room to the small table he has by the window. His limp was bad, even aided by his cane, but he is able to be up.

So when Klavier brings dinner upstairs, they're able to eat at the table instead of on the bed.

"Not feeling like an invalid is a nice change." Kristoph noted sarcastically as Klavier dragged the plush chair back over to the the table so that he had a place to sit.

Klavier didn't comment on the statement. Instead he asked, "Do you want me to bring in the radio after dinner?"

"Not tonight, but thank you," Kristoph said. Listening to a speech by the Party currently in power after the long day that today has been would drive him insane. "After dinner you can put the small desk and everything else back in my office and see if you can find Stechlin in the library."

"It's on the shelf with the other books by Fontane." Klavier told him. "I'll bring it in."

"Thank you," Kristoph replied.

(-)

The next day, Kristoph's knee is fine. It still aches, and it feels like he can't support any of his weight on it, but he can move it. He's able to rise, dress, and is downstairs minding the breakfast cooking on the stove when Klavier comes racing into the kitchen.

"Please refrain from running around the house, you're not a child." Kristoph called. He was leaning against the counter, using it to support his weight so his hands would be free. His cane hangs on the edge of the counter, within reach in case he needs it.

"I knocked on your door but you didn't answer, and the door was locked. I wasn't sure what had happened to you. You're up!" Klavier came to stop next to Kristoph. "How's your knee?"

"Fine. I'm fine. Go set the table," Kristoph ordered, to prevent any more questions. Now that he was up, he intended to act like a human being, and that starts with eating at the table.

Klavier wandered away to the other side of the kitchen and started getting out plates and silverware.

Life is going back to normal. Kristoph appreciated that.

He's glad this doesn't happen to him very often.

* * *

 **[A/N:]** Here, have another story based on one line of dialogue in C.D. proper. Well, I guess technically the first story in this collection was based on two lines of dialogue, but you know what I mean.

I was writing this and was like, why is Klavier okay with the idea his brother is occasionally barely able to walk and even though in chapter 37 it's acknowledged that Klavier would have to be waiting on his brother when this happens? He's okay with it because he actually gets to spend a lot more time with Kristoph and the doors in between them stay open longer! is the answer I discovered when I was writing this chapter. Which I actually find to be pretty sad.

Uh...what else? Unless any readers have questions I don't think I have too much more to add. Der Stechlin is a book by Theodor Fontane, a German author, and it was serialized in the late 1800s. I wasn't sure if in German, 'Der' would have stayed there. I decided to go without it because in English we sometimes drop "The" at the beginning of book titles anyway. For example, the proper title of Lord of the Rings is The Lord of the Rings, but usually I don't see the "The" at the beginning when it's referred to.

I'm kind of glad I've got another update for Fantasia. I've wanted to post one for awhile but most what's coming up next in this set of stories is set either later in the context of C.D. or just after the end of C.D. altogether, so I can't post any of that yet. The title for this chapter comes from the saying "once in a blue moon," which is generally used to things that don't happen very often but again fits into the sun/moon theme for the Gavin brothers.

Please review!


	8. Time After Time

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

 **Summary** : 8. The lost in pain and lonely for affection - that's where the Gavin brothers are.

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Time after Time**

[Status: Cannon in the context of C.D.]

 _Munich, Germany_

 _193X_

 _I don't want the morphine._

 _I don't want the morphine._

Fourteen year old Kristoph Gavin kept telling himself that, and he intended to keep telling himself that until he believed it. He was lying in bed, he knee tightly wrapped. He'd aggravated his injured knee again. _Am I ever going to get better? Is my knee ever going to heal?_ His left hand was pressed to his eyes; his glasses were on the nightstand on the right side of the bed.

He hated the way morphine clouded his mind, and while it would let him sleep and ease the pain in his knee, he wouldn't be able to think straight for very long after the injection.

The bottle on morphine and needles are in locked box in a drawer in the left nightstand, where he could reach them from the bed if he needed him. The locked box would keep Klavier out of them. The doctors who had come yesterday after his accident had advised him to rest his knee as much as possible. But that's what they've advised since the day of the explosion that gave him the injury in the first place: stay off his knee as much as he could. He'd graduated to using a cane, but the other day, he'd tripped over a sidewalk curb and landed hard on his bad knee. When the immediate shock of the injury – and the sudden, excruciating pain - had passed, he'd been unable to support any weight on his knee. For the moment, when he needed to get out of bed, he had crutches to help him get around and minimize the weight on his knee.

The pain itself was just on the edge of what he could tolerate without medication. He was wishing he had brought a book back to bed with him last time he was up, because he didn't feel like getting up to get one now, and now he was bored and nothing to focus on but the pain.

Outside, the rain was beating on the windowpane. Though he wouldn't realize it for a couple more years, it was probably not helping his knee.

Kristoph took his hand off his eyes, and then squinted at the door to his room. He couldn't tell without his glasses if it was closed all the way, though it should have been. But he couldn't remember if he'd closed it all the way or not early.

The door, as it turned out, was partially opened, as Kristoph discovered a moment later when Klavier clambered onto the bed, using the footboard as a handhold to pull himself up.

After Kristoph's injuries, some workers had been hired to switch the bed Kristoph used to have in his room with one of the other beds in the house. This bed he has now is taller, so it's easier for him to get in and out of it. He missed his four-poster bed, though. This one has a smaller headboard and footboard.

And it had more obvious baseboards that frame the bottom of the mattress and make convenient footholds for shorter, younger brothers.

Klavier is obviously upset when Kristoph sees him. "Mutti didn't want me." He said petulantly.

Kristoph sighed. Here is another problem. "Mutti wants you, Klavier. She just doesn't want you to be near her because she doesn't want you to get sick." He reached for his glasses and put them on.

"But she's been sick forever." Klavier complained. "Is she ever going to get better?"

"I hope so," Kristoph replied. But he doubted it. Their mother had refused to go to a sanitarium, claiming that her children needed her. But then things like this happen, and she can't help either of them.

Kristoph is more worried every day that his mother's health is sinking more than she's letting on.

Klavier crawled up the bed towards his brother. "Her door was locked."

That does not surprise Kristoph either. He didn't say anything, and Klavier went on. "She told me to go away through the door."

"She loves you, Klavier." Kristoph assured him.

"Does your knee hurt?" Klaver asked.

"It does." Kristoph acknowledged. There was no point in hiding it.

"Oh." Klavier got quiet, and started tugging on the bedspread.

"What's wrong?" Kristoph asked.

Klavier stopped and looked up at him. "I'm hungry."

Kristoph sighed again. This was probably what Klavier had been looking for in the first place - someone to take care of him. _A break from life would be a nice change._ Kristoph threw off the blankets and turned so that he was sitting with his feet on the floor. He reached over Klavier to grab his robe at the foot of the bed – it was navy blue, in comparison to the royal blue one he would use when he got older - and put it on over his sweater and pants. Then he reached for his crutches. "Well, let's see what we can do about that."

(-)

What they can do about that, Kristoph discovers about three minutes later, is get into a mess trying to go down the stairs.

The servant's staircase, past Klavier's room on the back of the house, comes out almost directly at the kitchen, but the main staircase has stairs that are a little wider and a little shorter, so Kristoph opts to use those instead. There's also a wide landing in the middle of the staircase, which he figures will only help.

But he's out of practice with crutches in general and especially on stairs, and he isn't leaning heavily enough on the one to keep it from falling out from under his arm, and then falling all the way down the stairs.

Kristoph should more appalled at this, but it fits the day he's been having. And for this minor disaster, anyway, he has Klavier.

He sits down at the top of the staircase, letting his feet rest a couple of steps below the landing, so that he can get back up later, while Klavier, looking very determined, marches down to the bottom of the stairs and hauls the other crutch back up with him.

It's a colder comfort, but at least they'll still have each other, should the worst happen to their mother.

Klavier returns the errant crutch and looks quite proud of himself as he does. Kristoph smiles, genuinely and in spite of himself, and ruffles his brother's hair as he takes the crutch. "Thank you."

Klavier looks even happier at this, but then races back down the stairs ahead of his big brother, who descends much more slowly.

Together, they make a simple dinner. Kristoph dispatched Klavier to take a tray upstairs and leave it outside their mother's door, warning him to be careful not to spill anything as he goes and to come back when he's done.

Then they sit down and have dinner.

(-)

Kristoph is relieved when he's finally back in his room, even if he does still have Klavier tagging along behind him. He's really out of practice on the crutches and that makes everything take much longer than it should, and he's wishing again that his knee would hurry up and heal so that he could go back to using his cane. He sank onto his bed with relief, set his crutches on the floor, and then realized that he'd forgotten his book. Again.

Klavier scrambled onto the bed a moment later, by the same baseboard- footboard route he'd used to get up before, and looked at Kristoph, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed, curiously.

"Klavier, can you bring me that book?" Kristoph asked after a moment pointing out a volume bound in red leather and sitting on the small desk in the corner of the room.

Klavier scrambled back down off the bed, and came back with the book. Kristoph took it from Klavier and then swung his legs up onto the bed, grimacing as he did. He was pulling his robe off when Klavier managed to get himself back up onto the bed. "Read to me?"

"It's in English, Klavier, and I'm not going to translate it for you." Kristoph warned him.

"I can understand it!" They both know he can. "Besides, this is the one you read to me last time." The book, A Tale of Two Cities, is rapidly becoming the book that Kristoph always reads to Klavier when Klavier is upset that their mother won't see him. Even though it is in English. They have a German copy somewhere in the library, but Kristoph hasn't bothered to look for it. He prefers to read books in their original language whenever he can.

Kristoph stacked his pillows behind him, against the headboard, and leaned back. Klavier crawled up towards him, and settled down next to him.

" _Book the Second – the Golden Thread_." Kristoph began. " _Chapter 19. Worn out by anxious watching, Mr. Lorry fell asleep at his post. On the tenth morning of his suspense, he was startled by the shining of the sun into the room where a heavy slumber had overtaken him when it was dark night. He rubbed his eyes and roused himself; but he doubted, when he had done so, whether he was not still asleep._ "

"That's not right!" Klavier interrupted, pulling excitedly on his brother's sleeve. "That's not where you left off last time!"

"Stop it." Kristoph ordered, looping his arm around Klavier to make the little boy stop moving. It was true, Kristoph realized after a moment, that this was not where they had left off last time he had read to Klavier. He started to flip back through the book, trying to remember where exactly he had stopped last time. "Where did we leave off?"

"You were reading about what the wine-keeper looked like."

 _Oh you dear heaven_ , Kristoph thought. _How many chapters has that been?_ The chapter about the wine shop in the first book would be a good place to start. He started flipping through the chapter in question, looking for the description. " _This wine-shop keeper was a bull-necked, martial-looking man of thirty, and he should have been of a hot temperament, for, although it was a bitter day, he wore no coat, but carried one slung over his shoulder. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up, too, and his brown arms were bare to the elbows_ …"

Klavier settled down and started to pay attention to the story. When he fell asleep, halfway into Chapter four of the second book, Kristoph flipped back to where he had left off and continued reading silently.

Outside, the rain continued to beat against the windowpane.

* * *

 **[A/N:]** This was not how I planned to spend my Sunday night but here, have some brotherly fluff. I don't know where these ideas come from, but I try and write them down when I get them.

I kind of like seeing early!Kristoph. He doesn't have his office yet, so he's got a smaller desk in his room, and of course I mention in-story that later on he gets a different robe, if that matters. And it turns out I was wrong back in chapter 5 of this collection when I had little!Klavier and referred to him as a toddler. In the 2010s, he would be considered a preschooler, but I haven't figured out if back in the 1930s, that toddler age category would have extended later. Today it stops at age 3, but I don't know how the stages of child development were categorized back then - if they were. It might be a later theory.

I quoted Charles Dickens' "A Tale of Two Cities" quite a bit in here, but the copyright is expired on that book and you can read it online.

Alright, I think that's all the notes. Please review.


	9. Blue Water

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

9\. There are some changes Krisotph plans to make now that he's leaving Germany for the last time. And the small ones count just as much as the big ones.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Blue Water**

[Status: Canon in the context of C.D.; set in Chapter 58.]

 _Departing From the French side of the English Channel_

 _1944_

There was a small room in the ferry that was given to Kristoph when he boarded. There were few passengers on the transport, and several soldiers, mostly American, who were going back to London on leave. The Captain of the ship and his escorts had decided that it would be better if Kristoph stayed largely out of sight.

It was a condition he was glad to agree too. The trip out of Germany and through France had been long and had more than it's fair share of problems; most simply from being held up by military transports. His ability to speak both French and English had been extremely useful during the trip. The French were looking in askance at anyone they suspected of being German.

But the two American soldiers he was traveling with had kept close and they had made it to the shoreline yesterday to wait for the next boat with extra space to take them across the Channel.

The small room had a bed, a small table, and small chest of drawers, all bolted down. As soon as he was inside, Kristoph locked the door behind him, tucked his valise under the bed, and set his cane on the floor next to the bed, in case it was needed. He took off his suit jacket, the ribbon around his neck, and the crescent moon pin he was wearing, and laid all the items on the table.

He was exhausted, and since he was alone, he was not afraid to give into it. He took off his shoes, and then curled up under the blankets on the bed. He was asleep in minutes.

(-)

Kristoph couldn't figure out what had woken him. He lay in bed, trying to determine what had changed. Then it dawned on him. The sound of the engines, a constant from the moment they'd boarded the ship, was gone.

He waited and listened for a moment longer, but when the noise didn't start up again, he reluctantly threw the blankets off and reached for his shoes.

When he was dressed sans his cane - his knee had so far given him no trouble - he left the room and went up to the deck. When he emerged from below, there were only a few people on the deck, one of whom was one of his escorts, Private First Class Jones. He spotted Kristoph and came over. "Mr. Gavin?" The man's Southern accent was think.

"Private Jones." Kristoph acknowledged. "It sounds like we've stopped."

"We have. There are some problems we're trying to navigate," Jones said.

Kristoph went over to the railing. Around the boat floated pieces of flotsam and debris. He turned back to Jones. "What happened?"

"We don't know. It may have been a stray U-boat attack. Or it might be debris that came out into the Channel with the last tide," Jones said. "We've stopped because we're trying to get the debris out of the way up front so that we don't scrape up the bottom, since we don't know what we're dealing with, and the Captain might call for an escort."

Kristoph nodded and turned back to the railing. All around them, dark blue water stretched out as far as one could see. Kristoph leaned his head against the rail, looking at the floor of the boat and the line of blue at the edge of it where the water started. He was still tired, in spite of his nap.

"Are ya alright?" Jones' voice was next to him suddenly, and he felt the man place a hand on his back. Kristoph cringed inside. These Americans were so ...touchy. They were always touching him. Putting a hand on one's back was something he would have done to Klavier if the latter was sick, but Klavier was his brother. He barely knew these two men, but that didn't stop them from putting a hand on his shoulder or grabbing his upper arm and steering him in the direction they wanted him to go.

"I'm fine," He said coolly. _Take your hand off of me_. "Just a little tired."

Jones patted him on the back. Kristoph reminded himself that striking the man would not be a good idea, no matter how tempting it was. "Well, we'll be in England soon." Jones did remove his hand and walked away after that. Kristoph was relieved.

Some more flotsam floated by the front of the boat. Kristoph leaned his head on the railing again and reminded himself that it was true that they would be in England soon. There was no such thing as a direct line to America these days, it seems.

The emerald stone set in the poison ring on his hand caught his attention. The hidden compartment in the ring was empty now. The gold was etched on either side of the stone with the family crest; the same family crest that was on the signet ring Klavier wore. Kristoph straightened up and slid the ring off his finger, weighing it in his hand carefully.

He remembered how, a long time ago, he had seen the von Metz children - there were only five of them at the time - playing with each other in the park, and how he was only there with his mother and wished he had a sibling to play with because he was tired of being alone. And then the year he turned eight, after wishing for a younger sibling for almost two years, Klavier had been born. He had no idea why this memory had come back to him now.

After a moment, Kristoph pitched the ring as far as he could over the side of the boat.

He would buy a new ring when he got to London, if he could. Something in sapphire this time. Green had never been his color. If he couldn't get anything in London, he would find out if any of the jewelry he'd sent to America with Klavier had made it through the war; there had been a sapphire ring that had been a family heirloom, or he would buy something in America.

The ring landed with a plonk! in the water, and he watched the symbol of his past life disappear beneath the waves.

* * *

 **[A/N:]** So now that Certain Demolitions is basically over I can post some of these sidefics without spoiling things. Here, have a slightly melancholic interlude for Chapter 58. I think that after four years of living a double life, Kristoph is just tired of the whole thing.

Part of Kristoph's objections to being touched comes from him being himself, but somewhere in my research I got the idea that what Jones is doing would be frowned upon by Germans. Not entirely sure where I got the impression, and I probably didn't bookmark the article either. Which is a long way of saying if I'm wrong, PM me and tell me. I've actually put a hand on the back of an acquaintance before to comfort them after a rough time in their lives, which was amazingly OOC occurrence for this introvert, so that's why Jones is doing it: he's thinking of it as a comforting or friendly gesture. Kristoph disagrees, but, there's not much he can say or do about it either.

Alright, is that everything? I think so.

Please review!


	10. Let it Burn

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

10\. America, 194X - Post War. Confronted by bad memories from the past, Kristoph has to find a way to move forward. Fortunately, Klavier's there to help.

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Let It Burn**

[Status: Cannon in the context of C.D. Set after chapter 58.]

Why had he agreed to help Justice with this damn case?

Kristoph hoped he looked dispassionate. That was what he was going for. But the witness on the stand made him want to break down. Or poison her, one or the other.

Posey O'ner was on the stand, explaining at the prosecutor's behest how Justice's client could have used chemicals purchased at O'ner's drug store to create a particular type of poison.

She was lying, and Kristoph knew, because the poison that had been used in this case was the same poison he had once assembled and given to the resistance to use to poison the War Communications Office back in Munich.

Obviously, Justice had picked up on it too. He was glaring at O'ner with that same bug-eyed glare he got when his intuition or whatever magic he used to detect lies was going off.

O'ner went into reciting the symptoms of the poison. She got those wrong, too.

Kristoph would know. By experience.

He should never have agreed to help with this damn case.

Posey O'ner was the last witness for the day. After that, the court recesses until 9 am the next morning, when Justice will get to cross-examine the witness.

Kristoph has never been so relieved.

And given his time in Germany as an Allied Spy, that's saying something.

(-)

Back at the Wright Anything Agency/Gavin Law Offices after court had adjourned, Apollo was talking the events of the day's case over with Wright. Kristoph listened in, mostly because the door to his office was open and Phoenix is standing in the hall a few feet further down in front of the doorway to Apollo's office, than because he wants to hear about the witness or the case again.

"She's definitely lying about the symptoms. What she's saying about presenting with a fever is wrong. And then that the deceased would have felt like he couldn't breathe…"

Phoenix said something that Kristoph couldn't hear. Apollo replied, "But the autopsy said that the victim was vomiting before they died. Wouldn't that have helped them to expel the poison?"

Kristoph slammed his hand, and the paper in it, on his desk. There was a pause in the hallway.

Then Phoenix and Apollo both appeared in his doorway. "Do you have something you want to say about the case today?" Phoenix asked.

 _Nosey people_ …Kristoph's jaw twitched. "The poison wouldn't be expelled by vomiting because of the delay in metabolizing it!" He spat. "By the time vomiting started it would have been in the victim's system for no less than two hours depending on the dose. Two hours is the median time for it to take effect!"

"Kristoph…" Apollo looked like he wanted to say something, but he trailed off and didn't say anymore.

Phoenix did. "So the witness was lying about everything."

"Yes! She was lying about everything!" Kristoph snarled. "None of the effects she described were correct." He thought of vomiting while his heart rate and respiration were slowing down from the poison and the feeling of his heart being about to burst from the need to pump blood faster while simultaneously being artificially slowed.

It had been misery. It must have been a miserable way to die for those who were killed by it.

But it had been war. He had done what he had to do.

"You should confront her on this," Apollo said.

Kristoph gave him a cool glare. "Justice, I cannot explain to the court how I know any of this."

"Oh." Apollo looked a bit disappointed at this. But both he and Phoenix knew better then to ask for more details. There were things Kristoph had done in Germany during the war that to this day he wouldn't talk to them about.

Kristoph turned away from them, glancing at the painting on his office wall, trying to compose himself.

"I wonder…" Apollo tapped his chin. "How I can trip her up in her statement. There has to be a way."

"What did the autopsy report say?" Kristoph snapped.

"It's getting updated. I don't have it yet." Apollo told him.

 _Get it together. Get it together_. Kristoph kept trying to tell himself that, but it wasn't working.

Phoenix phrased his next question carefully, based on how slowly he spoke. "Is there anything that you can tell us that we should be looking for when the updated autopsy arrives?"

Kristoph tried to keep himself under control. "Ask the doctor who gives you the report about damage the heart, because that's what the poison does. It slows the heart and stresses it." _I thought I was going to die. I knew hadn't drunk enough poison to cause it, but I thought my heart was going to burst and I was going to die; that I had made an error in the amount of the poison and the biggest mistake of my life._ "So you should ask about that." He slid the chair back from his desk and stood up. "I'm going home."

He took his cane and his briefcase and walked out the door. Phoenix and Apollo watched him go.

As soon as they heard the front door close, Apollo turned to Phoenix. "I'm going to find Klavier."

"That's probably a good idea." Phoenix agreed.

(-)

Kristoph went straight home and went to his room.

The new house was much smaller than the house in Munich, but he liked it better. There were stairs up to the porch, and stairs down to the terrace, but he could manage the four steps up to the front door and the three down to the terrace. The rest of the house was one level.

The front door opened into the living room, and Kristoph went straight through it, then through the French doors that led into the dining room. At the end of the dining room, on the left, was a door that led into a hallway. At the far end of the dining room was another doorway that led into the kitchen. To the left in the hall was the room that Kristoph had turned into his home office. Then there was the bathroom. His bedroom was to the right, at the end of the hall in the back of the house.

Kristoph entered his room and shut the door behind him. He dropped his briefcase onto the tall plush chair in the room, then dropped his suit jacket on top of the briefcase.

The ribbon and crescent moon pin at his throat he dropped onto the bureau, and propped his cane against it.

 _I hate war,_ he thought, and looked at the floor. _I hate both wars._

His head was hurting. Kristoph pulled the curtains shut, kicked his shoes off, and crawled into bed, dropping his glasses on the nightstand as he did.

Kristoph hadn't been trying to fall asleep very long when he heard the front door open and shut. He tensed, waiting for a knock at his door, but there was nothing.

Klavier certainly must know he was home; his car was in the driveway. But then he heard the sound of dishes being rattled in the kitchen. Apparently Klavier had no intentions of seeing what his brother was doing. Kristoph was just fine with that.

He was tired. He stretched out under the blankets and gave into the sleep waiting to drag him under.

(-)

A knock on his door wakes him. Kristoph snapped awake, but it took him a moment to place who could be knocking at his door. "What?"

"Can I come in?" Klavier called to him.

"The door is unlocked." Kristoph called back, rubbing his eyes. He reached for his glasses as the door opened.

Klavier came in, balancing a tray in his hands. It took Kristoph a moment to realize that the tray had bowls on it, two; and there was a basket covered in a napkin and a pitcher of water and two glasses.

"Someone's getting creative." Kristoph noted flatly. "What is all this about?"

"You mean you aren't hungry?" Klavier responded, setting the tray down on the bed. He handed a bowl of soup to Kristoph, who took it in one hand and then reached over to the basket. It was filled with crusty rolls from the bakery in town; still warm from being reheated in the oven. He took one of them.

Klavier perched on the edge of the bed and took his own bowl from the tray. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine. Just tired. It was a long day." Kristoph admitted.

Conversation between them lapsed as they both ate. As they were finishing up, Klavier said, "Apollo came to see me this afternoon."

Kristoph looked annoyed, and then looked away. "Oh, did he?"

"He said you were upset by the trial today," Klavier replied.

"It wasn't the trial." Kristoph snapped. "It was the witness. The lying witness! And I know she was lying because…" He trailed. "I can't tell the court how I know she was lying."

Klavier stacked the dirty dishes on the tray and set the tray on the floor. "It has to do with what you did as a spy, doesn't it?"

Kristoph crossed his arms over his chest. "I was poisoned with the same poison that killed the victim. I did it on purpose to try and keep people from suspecting me of being a spy."

Klavier looked upset at this news. "You could have died!"

"I wasn't going to die." Kristoph said flatly. "I didn't drink enough to die." _Though while I was under the influence of the poison I wished I was dead._ "I know beyond the hesitation of a doubt that the witness is lying and I can't prove it."

"Of course you can!" Klavier said. "You'll come up with something! I know you will."

Kristoph looked taken aback by this. Then he looked at the bedspread. "I hope you're right. I have to figure out how to ask questions to prove that she's lying."

"You'll figure it out. You'll be fine." Klavier assured him. Then he changed the subject. "Do you dream about what happened to you in the war?"

Kristoph frowned, and shot back, "Do you dream about the Nazis trying to abduct you?"

"I asked you first." Klavier replied.

 _You are such a pain sometimes_ , Kristoph thought. "I dreamed, when the bombers were raiding the city, of the ordinance that went off the day I went on that outing with Uncle Johan. That was during the war. Sometimes I dream about it still, when I'm reminded that it happened, or on the Fourth of July when the whole neighborhood likes to light off fireworks."

Klavier looked subdued by this information. Then he said, "I don't dream a lot, but sometimes I do dream about the day the Nazis came for me. It ends in so many different ways, though. Sometimes I watch them shoot Ema and Apollo. Sometimes they blindfold me and I know that they're dragging me onto the U-boat. It has a lot of different endings. None of them are very good." He tried to smile. "I guess we are both pretty messed up, huh?"

"That's a term for it." Kristoph agreed. He leaned back against the pillows behind him. _I am so tired._

"The autopsy report should show that the witness is lying," Kristoph said absently after a pause, thinking back through the day's trial.

Klavier yanked one of the pillows out from behind Kristoph and curled up around it on the other side of the bed, on top of the blue counterpane. "See? I knew you'd figure it out."

He sounded so pleased by the fact that he was right about the fact that Kristoph could solve the problem that the older Gavin can't help but smile in spite of himself.

If he's honest, Kristoph can't deny that his little brother is better at him at a lot of things, which makes Klavier's still-unyielding faith in his big brother that much more important to Kristoph.

It was the one thing he had missed in Munich when they were apart for the duration of the war.

He tossed the blankets off, and onto Klavier. Then he stood up. "I had better makes notes for Justice. He's not going to know what he's dealing with."

Klavier flipped the blankets back off of himself a minute later. "Where are you going?"

"My office. I have work to do." Kristoph called back as he walked out of the room and down the hall to his home office.

(-)

The autopsy report the next day does show that the witness is lying. Based on her reaction when Apollo points this out to her, he's able to catch her in another lie, and in short order, he's pulled part of the house of card Posey O'ner has built down. It's obvious there's a lot left that will have to be untangled, but the situation looks better for the attorneys of the Wright & Gavin Anything & Law Offices.

Kristoph does not try to kill the witness, nor does he try to strangle Phoenix Wright at their shared office that morning before he and Justice set off to the courthouse. It's not that he doesn't like Wright, it's just that Wright tends to pick up more on Kristoph's emotional distress while Apollo tends not to see it.

Or maybe it's just that Phoenix happens to be the one around when Kristoph lets more of his distress show, and Kristoph does a better job of hiding his feelings from Apollo.

Regardless of why it is, he doesn't strangle Wright when the man comes in that morning, takes one look at him, and asks if he'd rather sit the trial out.

The trial had been back underway for an hour that morning when the door to the visitor's gallery above the prosecutor's bench open and Klavier slips in and takes a seat. Kristoph sees him enter but they don't acknowledge each other. Kristoph is here to work, after all.

And Klavier can support his brother just as well without being acknowledged.

He's not out of the woods yet, in the trial or in life, but at moments like this, Kristoph Gavin thinks that he can find his way back again.

* * *

 **[A/N:]** So I have this idea that Kristoph is probably not doing so great following the war, not because he killed anyone, but because the war itself was a stressful event and because of the double life he lived for the duration.

So I was going to write this story where he was suffering some depression or otherwise a mentally unhealthy state, but I was surprised. Klavier came in at the end and really turned things around. Didn't see that coming, but I'm pleased with how it worked out. Yes, the name of the Wright Anything Agency/ Gavin Law Office keeps changing in this story because at this point, everyone is still trying to figure out what to call the place.

So there's one in-progress AU spinoff of CD and a couple(?) more Fantasia stories floating around on my computer somewhere. I will have to get them rounded up, finished if they aren't, and I see what I want to do with the other two AU spinoffs.

Anyway, please review!


	11. In the Burning Heart

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

 **Summary** : Another spin-off idea from CD: Berlin, Germany, 1940. Ema Skye thought her luck as she tried to escape her pursuer had run out. Then she ran into Klavier Gavin.

 **Note** : This story is rated OT for older teen due to some of the themes in the story.

* * *

 **Chapter 11: In the Burning Heart**

[Status: Non-canon in the context of CD.]

 _Berlin, Germany_

 _1940_

The sound of her feet on the road sounds too loud, and she's afraid everyone can hear it. But there's nothing she can do about it. Ema Skye was breathing hard and fast, but she knew she couldn't stop running.

Everything has gone wrong since the day her sister was arrested, everything. Sent off to live relatives in Europe, her elderly aunt had in turn sent her to a prestigious and expensive boarding school for girls in the Netherlands.

Which had been fine, and Ema would have even admitted that she liked it there. Right up until the war broke out and Germany invaded.

Ema hadn't really taken any languages while she was at school. English was the language of choice there, and she knows enough Dutch to make herself understood. So she hadn't really been prepared to be conscripted as slave labor and sent back to Germany to work.

And as an American, she wasn't going to stand for it, either, which was why she was on the run. That, and the businessman she'd been sent to work for had tried to force himself on her tonight. After that there was no more time to try and plan how to get back first to Holland and then to America. It was just time to leave.

Behind her, the sound of footsteps was drawing closer. She tried to increase her speed, but then she felt a hand on her arm. "No!" She shrieked, spinning around to face her attacker. "Leave me alone." But he was taller and had a heavier build, and he was using that weight against her.

She screamed.

And then her attacker was felled by the quick blow of a rifle butt to his face. Before cognition caught up to mental processing, Ema found herself looking into the face of a man not much older than she was. He had brilliant blue eyes and platinum blond hair, and was wearing a black uniform with a red armband bearing a swastika on it. He swung his rifle back onto his back, grabbed her by the hand, and pulled her away.

Because it took her a few seconds to process all of this, they're already a couple of blocks away from her attacker before Ema realized that the man she's with is a Nazi who still has her hand in his. And because she hates Germany, and the Nazis, she does the most logical thing she can think of: when they come to a stop so her rescuer/latest kidnapper can make sure that no one on the road will be paying attention to them when they emerge from the alley they're in, she pulls her hand free and hits him as hard as she can. She isn't very strong, but fear adds to her strength and managed to land a good blow on him.

"Achtung! Fraulien!"

"Let go of me!" Ema shrieked.

He looked alarmed and slapped a black-gloved hand over her mouth. "Fraulien. Would you rather take your chances with me, or with them?" He gestured at the guards patrolling the street.

She pulled his hand away from her mouth, and he let her. "Fine. I'll follow you," She said reluctantly. Even though his English has an obvious accent, it's the first English she's heard since she was shipped to this wretched country. Until now, the only thing she's heard is scattered words and commands that sounded like someone was reading them out of a book.

So Ema let him take her hand and guide her through the alleys and back streets of the city, until they come out to a street that he takes them both onto the sidewalk of.

" _Abend_." A soldier on the street said, nodding at her escort.

" _Abend_ ," He returned, touching the brim of his hat.

They walked to a solid, squat building with guards stationed outside. Her guide ignored the guards and went in.

Inside, they take an elevator up to the highest floor of the building, and Ema realized that this was an apartment building. "Where are you taking me?" She asked suspiciously once they were on the elevator.

"To where I'm staying," He said. "You can't stay on the streets. The guards patrol everywhere."

This is enough to heighten her alarm, but there's nothing she can think of to do right now. There's nowhere she can go in a city in the middle of a country whose language she can't speak.

She followed him out of the elevator and down a quiet hall to the last apartment on the building.

He opened the door. " _I'm home_."

Ema couldn't understand what he's saying, but a moment later a tall man who looked like a slightly older version of her rescuer came into the room. This man was wearing a blue suit and glasses. " _Welcome home_ , _Klavier_ ," He paused when he saw Ema and switched languages. "What in heaven's name are you doing? Who is she?" It was English, but considerably less accented then the first man's. Ema suspected he was speaking it because he thought she couldn't understand it.

"Ach…um…" Her rescuer looked confused. "I don't know. She was in trouble, so I stopped to help."

The man in blue shook his head. "Wonderful. We can't even help ourselves out of the mess we're in, but you have to stop and help people on your way home from work." He looked at her. _"What is your name?"_

She stared at him blankly. He frowned and switched languages again, back to English.

"What is your name?"

"Ema Skye." She retorted.

"Fraulien Skye. I am Kristoph Gavin, and you've already met my younger brother Klavier," Kristoph said. "Where are you from?"

"America. But I was in school in Holland when your country invaded." Ema spat back.

"I see," Kristoph said grimly. He turned to Klavier. "Tell me what happened."

Klavier did so, and kept it short. When he was finished, he said, "If you have no more questions, please excuse me." He turned and went down the hall and vanished through a door.

Kristoph and Ema looked at each other. Ema turned and started back towards the door that led into the apartment.

"Where exactly do you intend to go, Fraulien Skye?" Kristoph asked behind her, and Ema came to a stop, bitter in the realization that there's no place she can go.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but you're trapped here." Kristoph said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Just like we are." He turned and went into the kitchen of the apartment, and she watched him set the tea kettle on to boil.

(-)

When Klavier reappeared, he was out of uniform. He was still wearing black; his pants and vest, as well as his boots, are black. But his shirt under the vest was purple, and the sash tied at his right side was purple shot through with strands of blue and red-violet. A silver hoop earring that wasn't there before is in one ear.

Ema was sitting in the living room, on the sofa. She sat rigidly, holding a cup of cooling tea that Kristoph had served her. When he came back with the cup, she noticed the slightest limp in his walk, like he was hesitating before putting his weight on his right knee.

Klavier paused, and watched his brother move around the kitchen. She realized that he had picked up the fact that his brother was uncertain about putting his weight on his knee. The blond played with his bangs for a moment, muttered "Achtung!" again under his breath, then saw her and flashed her a warm smile.

"I'm sorry I did not get a chance to explain things to you properly, Fraulien Ema." He said as he sat down, and she was glad that he was sitting in the chair and not on the couch. "But I was in a hurry to get home, and it seemed better if we were not followed, yes? So I waited to explain until later."

"Thank you for saving me," Ema said, grudgingly.

"You are welcome, Fraulien."

" _If you're done flirting with our new houseguest_ ," Kristoph said from the kitchen. " _Come help me set the table."_

Klavier grinned at her, then got to his feet and went to help Kristoph.

Ema frowned and considered the situation she was in. She wanted a way to get back to Holland and find out if her Aunt was still alive. Then she wanted both of them to be free to go back to America.

But right now she wanted to know what Kristoph had alluded to about the brothers being trapped here too.

(-)

"I expect it will rain tomorrow?" Klavier asked at dinner that night.

The three of them were sitting around a small table in a small dining room. Klavier had been dispatched to find an extra chair, and had given up thirty seconds into the task, choosing to move the chair from the living room over to the table. This left Ema sitting opposite Kristoph in one of the proper dining room chairs. Kristoph has the other, and Klavier sat between them in the chair he moved in from the living room.

"Yes. But I haven't heard the official report from the Ministry of Weather yet."

"According to the Ministry of Weather it will be nice tomorrow." Klavier reported.

"Did Herr Hitler smash the barometer? Or does the Ministry get their reports by throwing darts at a weather map?" Kristoph asked.

Ema perked up a little at this. She had suspected that her hosts were hiding more than they were letting on, based on Kristoph's earlier comments. But she hasn't found a good way to bring the matter up yet.

"I'm sure it's darts that they use." Klavier replied glibly, but there was a note of anger in his voice.

"Are you working tonight?" Kristoph asked.

"No. But I'm to go in tomorrow."

Kristoph's expression was veiled, but he seemed unhappy at this news.

After dinner Ema sat in the living room again while Klavier and Kristoph clean up. She could hear them talking, but they were speaking German again, so she couldn't understand what they're saying.

She's started to think that she might be safe here. But she's afraid to trust that thought.

In the kitchen, Klavier is washing the dishes, and Kristoph dries them and puts them away. This allowed him to move around the kitchen and tray and keep his knee from getting any stiffer. He had been prepared to wash, but Klavier had volunteered for the job.

Kristoph tried to limp as little as possible these days. But it's hard not to sometimes, like tonight, when the weather is changing.

" _Where do you intend for our guest to sleep_?" Kristoph asked.

Klavier had been considering this problem off and on throughout dinner. " _She can have my bed. I'll sleep on the floor."_

" _Which floor_?" Kristoph asked incredulously.

" _The living room floor_." Klavier suggested. There is a rug on that floor, and with enough blankets he should be comfortable.

Kristoph frowned and put the plate he was holding in the cupboard. " _You're going to go to work tomorrow morning after having spent the night trying to sleep on the floor."_ He sounded like he didn't believe it, or that he thought Klavier had lost his mind.

" _Do you have any better ideas_?" He can't sleep on the couch, it isn't long enough for him to stretch out and actually be comfortable on. And he can't imagine Ema sleeping on the floor, and there's no way he'll let Kristoph sleep there.

" _Yes. Two people fit in my bed. It looks like we're rooming together again, little brother."_ Kristoph finished drying the last of the three glasses and put them all in the cupboard on the other side of the sink.

Klavier grinned. " _Just like old times, Kris?"_

" _Yes_ ," Kristoph agreed dryly. Last time something like this had happened, Klavier was eight. " _Just like old times_."

After the dishes are done, Kristoph went and sat in the living room. By now he was limping in earnest. Klavier vanished down the hall and reappeared with a guitar.

It looked a lot more natural in his hands then the rifle he had held earlier.

His hands seem to work of their own accord, tightening pegs and testing the strings. He perched on the arm of the chair his brother was sitting in. Kristoph gave him a long look but said nothing about it.

"We have two choices in the evening, Fraulien," Klavier said. "We can listen to the radio or I can play something."

Ema considered it. "I don't suppose you get the BBC here?"

"Not that we'll ever confess to." Kristoph answered.

"Well, whatever you want to play is fine."

"Thank you, Fraulien." Klavier sounded pleased, and embarked on playing a lot of music she had never heard before. But he was good at it, and it was nice, though she hasn't applied that word to anything in this country yet.

Once Klavier started, he kept going. Kristoph listened with his eyes closed, and Ema finally relaxed, just a little bit.

Ema had lost track of the time by the time Klavier finally stopped. "You must be tired, Fraulien. I can show where you'll be sleeping, if you would like," He said.

"I would," Ema replied. He held out a hand to her, and after a moment, she took it and let him pull her to her feet.

They went down the hall that she had seen Klavier go down earlier that day, and stopped at the first door on the right. Klavier pushed it open. "You'll be sleeping here tonight."

He entered the room and Ema followed, looking at the largely bare room. The furniture was functional and simple, and there were no pictures on the desk or anything on the walls. "This is …plain."

Klavier took a pile of clothing out from under the pillow on the bed. "This is my room. And you're right, it is plain. But Kristoph and I…we are just staying here. Our home is in Munich."

"What happened to bring you here?" Ema asked. For a change, she was genuinely curious.

" _Ach_ …lots of things." Klavier hedged. " _Gute Nacht_ , Ema." He said, and then he was gone.

Ema looked in the direction he'd gone. curious. But then she closed the door and shoved the bureau over a little bit so that the edge of it barred the door from being opened.

For a change, she doesn't think she's fallen in with monsters. But she doesn't intend to take any chances.

(-)

Kristoph had been lying in bed that night for hours, staring at the ceiling. Lights from the city outside reflect into the room through the chink in the curtains.

Finally, he slid out from under the blankets, carefully. Next to him, Klavier was asleep and had been for hours.

Kristoph went to the kitchen and fixed himself a cup of tea. It was one habit from his time in London years ago that he never got over, though to be fair, he never really tried.

He left the lights off once he'd brewed the tea and went to sit at the table.

 _Klavier, what have you done?_ He considered the newest development in their predicament as he waited for the tea to cool enough that he could drink it. Their situation was bad enough as it was, without the addition of more people.

Lt. Mander had struck faster than Kristoph had ever anticipated, showing up one afternoon at their home in Munich with officials from Berlin earlier that year.

"I'm here to invite your little brother to come work for us." Mander had said, after shoving Kristoph out of the way and letting himself and the officials and soldiers he'd brought with him into the house. He'd introduced one of the men with him as being one of Hitler's personal aides. Kristoph, not pleased when anyone who he wasn't related to by blood let themselves into his house, looked ready to protest, but something in the demeanor of the soldiers who were with Mander made him hold his tongue.

Klavier had heard the commotion and come downstairs to see what was going on.

Mander's grin when he had seen the younger Gavin was wide and manic. "Hello, Klavier. It's been a long time."

"Yes, it has," Klavier had said, cautiously.

"I'm here, along with," He had paused to introduce the Hitler aide standing there. "To tell you that we have a job for you to do in Berlin. You can become a member of the Nazi Party and serve the Fatherland."

"I appreciate the offer but I'm going to have to decline." Klavier put on a pleasant smile. "I haven't finished my last year of schooling yet."

"You're, what? Two, three grades ahead of where you should be for your age?" Mander had asked. "I think you can just sit for your graduation exams and then come to Berlin. In fact, you can take your examinations in Berlin. We'll make all the arrangements."

"That's very kind of you, but I don't really want to leave Munich." Klavier had replied. "And family policy has been that we don't take sides in politics."

Mander looked at the Hitler aide, who nodded at the soldiers, and a moment later, Kristoph had found himself on the business end of three guns.

"That's not the right answer." The aide had said. "But we're going to give you a chance to change your mind."

"Of course, I can always take my examinations in Berlin." Klavier had conceded, quietly.

"Wise choice," The Aide had said.

The tea was finally cool enough. Kristoph sipped it slowly. Their only saving grace so far was that Calisto had not been paid before the brothers had been relocated to Berlin, and when she hadn't gotten her money, she had come looking for them. Her disguises were many, and she had no problem getting herself into and out of the building.

Klavier worked for the Nazis now, doing what he was told, mostly propaganda work, since he fit the image the Nazis wanted to project. He also worked for Mander a lot, and Kristoph was sure that the man was enjoying being able to order the younger son of a nobleman around, and someday he intended to make Mander pay for it. Kristoph stayed at their apartment, working via letter on liquidating the family assets so that there would be money available to them when they were finally able to get out of Germany.

When he went out to shop, or on the rare occasions that he went to see one of the Fuhrer's speeches (the ones that Klavier always had to be present for), the guards posted outside the door of the building shadowed his steps everywhere he went. He had dealt with this by becoming friends with all of them and being on good terms with them. Buying the occasional stein of beer or meal for his guards if the opportunity arose while he was out was interpreted as a gesture of goodwill and a sign they could trust him, and he was banking on them continuing to believe that, right up until the appropriate moment arrived to stab them all in the back and flee the country with Klavier.

And then Klavier had come home with this girl.

Before Klavier had gone to sleep that night, Kristoph had asked him what he thought they should say when they were asked why Ema was there.

"Say she's here to …be domestic help! And do housework." Klavier suggested.

"And what exactly do you think I do while you're out all day other than write letters? It's not that big of an apartment, Klavier."

Kristoph took another sip of tea. Yes, this made everything more complicated. Now he was going to have to work Fraulien Skye into their exit plans as well.

(-)

The alarm clock that went off the next morning was a formality. Kristoph hasn't slept much. He turned it off and sighed. Next to him, Klavier stirred, rolled over and stretched before finally slipping out of bed and going down the hall to his room.

It was a grey day outside, and rain was beating against the windowpane. Kristoph heard his brother knock on the door to the other bedroom, and then Klavier was back in the room, in a state of alarm. "She won't open the door."

"Didn't you bring your clothes in here last night?" Kristoph asked, squinting at his younger brother. He hasn't put his glasses on yet.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I didn't think I would need to. Achtung! The door doesn't even lock! How was I supposed to know she would bar it?! Can we talk about this later, please? I don't want to be late."

"Yes," Kristoph agreed. Klavier sat back down on the bed, took his earring out and set it on the nightstand.

"Take my robe and go start getting ready," The older Gavin said. "And next time, try thinking a little further ahead. Preferably before you bring the girl home, please."

Klavier responded by picking up the other pillow and hitting Kristoph in the face with it.

"Very grown-up of you, Klavier." Kristoph said, his voice muffled by the pillow that was still sitting on his face.

"Lick me." Klavier shot back, before grabbing his brother's robe and darting out of the room.

Kristoph took the other pillow off his face and set it where it belonged. Then he stood up, limped over to the bedroom door, and closed it so that he could get dressed.

He came out of the room minus his suit jacket and tying his ribbon on. The shower in the bathroom was running. He limped down the hall to the door to Klavier's room and knocked on it. "Fraulien Skye, I need you to open the door."

There was no answer.

"Fraulien Skye, there will be a direct correlation between how late Klavier is in getting to work and how many Nazis show up here to ask uncomfortable questions. So unless you feel like coming up with a very interesting story about why you're here, please open the door."

After a moment, he can hear something sliding across the floor and then Ema opened the door and looked at him suspiciously.

Kristoph isn't bothered by it, instead moving past her, into the room. He took Klavier's clothes and uniform and made a neat stack of them on the edge of the bed.

"How do you know Nazis will show up here?" Ema asked.

"Klavier was sick one day, very sick, and he couldn't go into work. The Party didn't believe me when I called to tell them that and they showed up half an hour after he was supposed to be at work to check." Kristoph set his brother's hat on top of the stack and looked at Ema. "Keep in mind that he was genuinely sick and in bed when they arrived. Three hours later, they left. Klavier was sick the rest of the week, and we had doctors coming here every day to check on him tell us what we already knew."

Ema considered it. "Why do they hate you two?"

"That is a long story," Kristoph said, picking up the stack of clothes. "Best saved for another time." He departed the room with the clothes.

He dropped them off on his bed, which he stops to make, and then he takes his cane and goes to the kitchen to make breakfast. Klavier will find the clothes when he's done.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, apart from Klavier's hurried attempts to make up for lost time. He was trying to button his uniform shirt when he arrived at the table. Then, when he had finished that task, he remembered that he had left his guitar in the living room, and jumped up from the table to go put it away.

"Would you please sit down and eat?" Kristoph asked, wondering where all this manic energy had come from lately. Ema sat very quietly in the other chair and tried to make herself as small as she could while she ate a slice of toast.

"I cannot sit, we do not have a third chair." Klavier noted. He stopped at the table long enough to take a bite of his toast, which was sitting on the edge of the table where his plate had been last night.

He was about to dart off again when Kristoph stood up and grabbed him by the arm. He pointed at his own recently vacated chair. "Sit down and eat." He ordered. "You're not going to be that late," He added the last part in German.

Klavier sat down, reluctantly. "Guten Morgen, Fraulien."

That much German Ema can figure out. "Good Morning."

"I hope you slept well."

"I did, thank you."

Kristoph stood in the kitchen, his weight on his good leg as he sipped coffee.

They didn't have much else to say to each other after that. When the meal was finished, Klavier vanished into the interior of the apartment again, reappearing with his hat and rifle. Then he departed.

Kristoph cleaned up the kitchen slowly, hindered by his knee and need for his cane. Ema helped out a little, feeling obligated, moving all the dishes from the table back into the kitchen.

"Danke, Fraulien Skye," He said.

"You're welcome." She loitered around the kitchen, waiting.

Kristoph kept her waiting until he was almost finished with washing the dishes and had them sitting in a towel to dry. Then he dried his hands, reached for his emerald poison ring that he'd left sitting on the counter, and slid it back on his right ring finger. "I suppose you're wondering about the story behind how Klavier and I came to be here."

"It would be nice," Ema admitted.

Kristoph reached for the tea kettle and set it on the stove, the flicked the burner on. When the gas was going under it, he turned back to her. "As you may have determined, Klavier and I are not supporters of the present regime."

"Then why are you still here? And why does Klavier run around in the uniform of a soldier?" Ema demanded.

Kristoph adjusted his glasses. "Klavier wears the uniform because he's been conscripted. Nothing more. If he had a choice, he wouldn't. We're here because there are guards outside the door. Otherwise, we would be back in Munich."

This is a bit of a surprise as far as Ema is concerned. The idea that not everyone supports the present government has not even occurred to her.

Her surprise must have shown, because Kristoph took one look at her face and nodded. "Yes, we don't all support the Nazis." If only he'd acted sooner, before Mander had had time to strike... "But I promise, that if you try and use that information against us, I will deny everything and ensure your destruction. There is only one thing in the world I have any obligations towards, and that is Klavier. I will try my best to make sure that you leave with us when we go, but in the meantime, remember that if you become a liability, I will throw you to the wolves. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Ema said flatly.

"Good." Kristoph replied. The tea kettle was whistling. He took it off the burner. "Tea?"

(-)

Kristoph and Klavier end up sharing a bed again that night. Ema was still in Klavier's room.

Kristoph woke in night, looked up at the ceiling, and realized that he can't feel his left arm. A moment of investigation let him determine that he can't feel it because Klavier is curled up on his shoulder and clinging to his arm.

It makes him feel sad, somehow, and disappointed, but he doesn't know what he's disappointed in. Klavier had come home late that evening, long after dinner was finished, and given some non-committal answers about how work was. He's too young to have to put on a uniform and spend every day faking his way through life. But Mander had made it abundantly clear to both of them early on that Klavier could deal with the present situation or Mander would quite cheerfully put Kristoph in front of a firing squad.

Once, Kristoph would have been able to get Klavier to talk about what had happened by finding some trace of the issue Klavier was trying to avoid, and pressing it as hard as he could. Usually it was enough to get Klavier to talk about what was bothering him. But not anymore. Now Klavier stays quiet about what he sees and does at work.

This is not what should happen to the son of a nobleman, whose family history is as old and distinguished as theirs. Their family should have been nobility in the service of the Kaiser. None of this should have ever happened.

Kristoph breaks out of his melancholy thoughts by reaching for the alarm clock on the nightstand, and bringing it close to his face to make up for the absence of light and his glasses. There's enough dim light in the room from outside that he can just faintly make out the hands: three a.m.

If he pulled his arm free, Klavier will wake up. Instead, Kristoph flexed his fingers to make sure he still can, and then laid back and looked at the ceiling. If his arm hurts in the morning, he'll take some aspirin. For now, Klavier needs to sleep.

It's been a long couple of days. Their new houseguest was magnifying this problem.

 _Thank you for this one, Klavier._

When the alarm went off at a considerably more reasonable hour that morning, Klavier stirred and released Kristoph's arm, curling up around the pillow instead. "I don't have to go to work today," he said.

Kristoph gave him a curious look, and he went on. "Lt Mander and everyone who works with him was invited to a party tonight that Herr Himmler is giving. Mander said that those who didn't want to come didn't have too, and he gave everyone the day off." Klavier hunkered down under the blankets again. "I'll be up in two hours."

"If you don't have to work, don't worry about being up." Kristoph said, tossing off the blankets and standing up. "Get some more sleep."

(-)

The rest of the day passed quietly. Ema worked on sewing herself a skirt with material that Kristoph had procured. Klavier had given her some clothes as hers were largely past saving, but having to roll up pants legs all the time had started to drive her crazy. He was a lot taller than she was.

A skirt was simple enough to make. She was debating whether or not to try and make a shirt, or just take in the one Klavier had given her. Shirts took longer to make, and she wasn't sure there was enough material.

Kristoph had been up early and spent the day reading and writing letters at the kitchen table.

Klavier had risen later than normal, well after breakfast was finished, and had spent most of the day curled up on the end of the couch opposite Ema, reading a book. He had mentioned in passing that he didn't have to work today.

The day passed quietly and uneventfully, until after dinner that night.

Klavier had been picking chords out on his guitar while Ema watched and Kristoph listened. Ema was in her new skirt but still in the oversized shirt, and she was resting her knees on her chin when suddenly there came a banging on the door.

Instantly, they were all alert.

" _Ach du lieber Himmel_ ," Kristoph muttered, his glasses going shiny in the light, before he got to his feet and turned to Ema. "Go to my room. It's the door on the very end of the hall. Be ready to hide if the need arises." He said in an undertone.

Ema nodded and darted down the hall with the speed of a frightened rabbit. She closed the door behind her, all the way but a crack, so that she could see what would happen next.

Kristoph turned to Klavier and said something that she either couldn't hear or couldn't understand. The older man walked to the door, but before he could open it, it was flung open and five men, all in black uniforms and red armbands, entered the room.

(-)

Lt Mander looked annoyed when he strode into the apartment that had been assigned to the Gavin brothers. His arms were clasped behind his back. Behind him, four men filed into the room. He looked at Klavier. "Herr Himmler has been wondering where you've been. And look at you, you're not even ready to go."

Mander had to give him credit, Klavier didn't back down. The musician's spine stiffened, and he drew to his full height. But he thought he shouldn't be surprised; nobility – even former nobility - didn't get pushed around without pushing back. "You said those who didn't want to come didn't have to." Klavier pointed out. "I didn't feel like attending."

"Well, that's a shame, because you've been invited. Explicitly. So you have," Mander paused at this junction and glanced at his watch, "Ten minutes to get your uniform on. And if that's too short of a time period for you, I've brought help." He nodded at two of the men, who moved forward and grabbed Klavier by his forearms.

"Don't you think this is a bit excessive?" Kristoph asked behind him.

Mander smiled. "When I want your opinion, Herr Gavin, I will ask for it. Now, Captain," He looked at Klavier and stressed the military title Klavier had been given, "Time is wasting."

The two soldiers started to drag Klavier towards the hall and his room.

"I must protest this breach of," Kristoph didn't get to finish his statement, as the soldier behind him suddenly kicked him, hard, behind his bad knee. Kristoph's leg gave out under him, and he was on the floor a moment later, gasping in pain.

(-)

Ema doesn't need to be able to speak German to understand Klavier's cries of outrage and protest after that, but his protests are to no avail. The two soldiers dragged him into his room, and Ema backed away from the door for fear of being spotted.

There were more sounds from the outer rooms, but now Ema was earnestly afraid of being caught here – look what they had done to the Gavins who were at least German. What would they do to her, a foreigner, if she was caught? – and stayed away from the door until she heard the sound of voices in the hallway again, and then the front door slammed shut.

When there had been silence in the apartment for awhile, Ema cautiously opened the door and crept out.

Kristoph was sitting on the table, looking pale and drained. He looked up when he saw her, then looked back at the table.

Ema didn't know what to do, so she went into the kitchen and set the kettle on the stove to boil.

" _Danke, Fraulien Skye_ ," Kristoph said.

There was nothing else to say.

(-)

Evening became night. Midnight passed.

Ema had retrieved Kristoph's came for him from his room, but even with it, he was still limping badly as he made his way to his room and crawled into bed. He couldn't put any weight on his leg, and had begun to realize that he needed crutches to deal with what had happened tonight and he needed to wrap his knee as well, but for now the best he could do was rest, and hope that he was doing better in the morning.

At one-thirty that morning, the door opened, and Klavier stumbled back into the apartment. Ema was still up, curled up on the edge of the couch, with the radio on and the volume turned down. She couldn't understand the broadcast, but she wanted the background noise.

"Ach Fraulien, you're still here." Klavier slurred, dropping down onto the couch and curling up opposite her.

Ema had sat up straight when he came in. "Are you alright?"

"I'm tired." He replied.

Ema frowned at him. She got up, turned the radio off, and went to Kristoph's room.

The older man was still awake and looked like he'd been expecting her appearance when she showed up in the doorway. He set the book he had been reading on the nightstand when she appeared.

"I heard," He said before she could speak. "See if you can get him back here." It went without saying that Kristoph would be no help on that front tonight.

Ema nodded and went back to rouse Klavier, who had started to doze off on the couch. "Klavier. Come on, get up."

" _Why_?" Klavier complained. At least Ema thought he was complaining; she wasn't sure.

"Come on." She got him to his feet, and they started down the hall to the back bedroom. When Ema made it to Kristoph's room and deposited Klavier on his brother's bed, Klavier curled back up into a ball, this time with one of the extra pillows on the bed.

"Find his pajamas, please," Kristoph asked. Ema nodded and disappeared from the room.

Kristoph roused Klavier next. " _What happened?"_

" _Herr Himmler wanted me to attend the party. Just me, not the others."_ Klavier muttered. _"He wants me to be overly familiar with Frau Douree."_

" _Frau Douree_?" Kristoph asked, looking slightly appalled.

" _Yes_." Klavier said. " _They put us in a room by ourselves, and they gave us lots of wine."_

" _Did anything happen?"_ Kristoph asked urgently. He had begun to realize that this wasn't mere drunkenness; that Klavier had not simply had more liquor than he could handle. His drinks must have been tampered with more than once.

" _No_." Klavier said. He paused, then added in a thoughtful tone, " _Mother would have called Frau Douree a slattern_."

 _Mother would have had a few other words to describe that woman, too,_ Kristoph thought, adjusting his glasses. He was distantly familiar with the woman in question, a big fan of the Nazis, and a hanger-on to upper Nazis circles.

Ema reappeared with a stack of clothing, and Kristoph roused Klavier again. "Go get changed," He instructed.

Klavier took the clothes, and went back the hall to his own room. Ema and Kristoph looked at each other. "What did he do that for?" Ema asked.

"He's drunk," Kristoph said flatly.

Klavier did come back into the room a few minutes later, ready for bed, and curled up under the blankets.

Ema went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. She doesn't really drink, but she had heard from others that if one didn't want to get drunk, one should drink water while they were imbibing.

Kristoph took it from her and woke Klavier again. "Drink this." He ordered. "Drink all of it."

Klavier did so, looking quite put out as he did, and when he was finished, Kristoph took the glass from him and set it on his nightstand.

"We'll see you in the morning," Kristoph said, looking at Ema again. "Thank you for your help tonight."

Ema opened her mouth to say to something, then closed it, nodded, and left the room. She went back to Klavier's room and shut the door.

(-)

When Ema rose the next morning, Klaiver was nowhere to been seen. Kristoph was in the kitchen, cane hanging off the edge of the counter, limping badly as he went around making breakfast as quietly as possible. And fuming, if the way his jaw kept twitching and his glasses kept going shiny in the light was any indication.

"What happened last night?" Ema asked, wrapping her arms around herself. She hadn't rolled the sleeves of the white shirt up yet and so they came down over her hands.

Kristoph paused. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you're asking, Fraulien Skye."

Ema blew out a frustrated breath. "Is Klavier alright?"

Kristoph paused. "He will be," He said after a moment.

"What did they do to him?"

Kristoph looked annoyed by the question. "Herr Himmler," Kristoph said the name like it disgusted him. "Believes in progressive eugenics," The last two words were accented in tone that made it sound like Himmler belonged to a group of heathens who ate the flesh of their victims, "and thinks that by breeding people he deems perfect with other people that he deems perfect, he can breed more of them."

"Breed them?" Ema asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Like animals?"

"Well if it works for cows and pigs and chickens, why shouldn't it work for people too?" Kristoph asked. It was a rhetorical question.

"That's what they wanted Klavier for?" Ema asked.

Kristoph gave her a long look, and nodded. "That is the only reason he was required to go out last night. So that Herr Himmler could throw a woman of "perfect features" at him and see what happened."

"Did anything happen?"

Kristoph set down the coffee grinder and turned to face her. "This is a subject that is in poor taste for a man to discuss with a woman to whom he is not related."

"There's a war going on." Ema pointed out. "Let's pick up civil society again when it's over, shall we?"

Kristoph frowned at her. "Klavier said last night that nothing happened. Not that I think it's any of your business, Fraulien Skye."

"I think I have a right to know. We're on the same side now, Mr. Gavin." Ema told him.

Kristoph frowned at that. "Yes. I suppose we are." He turned his attention back to the food on the stove. "Let Klavier sleep as long as he can. He needs it after last night."

Ema nodded and went to set the table.

Breakfast was eaten in silence; without Klavier there the pair had little to say to each other. Kristoph had set aside a plate for Klavier. After breakfast, they cleaned up the kitchen in silence too.

(-)

It was near noon when Klavier finally appeared. He still looked exhausted when he joined them at the table, and he spent most of the meal picking at his food between the glasses of water Kristoph kept putting in front of him.

" _Keep drinking water. You need to get whatever they gave you out of your system_ ," Kristoph instructed in German.

In spite of the frequent admonition, Klavier only drank a couple of glasses of water with his food.

Even though she knew the answer to her question, Ema thought she would try and start a conversation anyway. "Rough night?"

Klavier pushed his food around with his fork as though he hadn't heard her. Then he paused his pointless motion and said, "I used to get invited to parties because I would bring my guitar. Now I get invited for different reasons." Then he went back to pushing his food around on his plate.

After lunch, Ema cleared the table, while Kristoph washed the dishes and Klavier stumbled around the kitchen putting them away. Kristoph had watched him in the beginning to make sure he didn't drop any of the dishes, but he hadn't, and so Kristoph had said nothing and gone back to washing dishes.

When the last of the dishes were finished and put away, Kristoph made his way over to the couch and sank down on it heavily, relieved to be off his aching knee. Klavier dropped down next to him, and Kristoph silently fished out the small throw pillow that he had been leaning against and handed it to his brother. Klavier took it and curled up next to Kristoph.

Ema sank down in the chair in the living room and settled in to be bored. Then there came another knock at the door. She tensed, expecting a repeat of the night before.

But Kristoph only started to stand up, then he sat back down. "I know who it is," He muttered to Ema, and Klavier, who was giving him a blurry-eyed look. Klavier curled back up and closed his eyes.

"The door is open," Kristoph called.

A woman with long, straight hair and wearing a blue dress entered the room a moment later. She gave the Gavins an appraising look. "Long night?"

"You have no idea." Kristoph said, adjusting his glasses.

The woman turned to Ema. "I don't think we've been introduced." Her English was flawless.

"Fraulien Skye, this is Calisto Yew, an employee of mine," Kristoph said. "Calisto, this is Fraulien Ema Skye. She's…staying with us for the moment."

"Oh really?" Calisto asked, looking very interested. Kristoph frowned and pointed at Klavier.

"Oh, I see." She waved her hand as though she could wave the conversation away. "Heroism has no place in the New Germany." She snickered and pulled a compact out of her handbag. After a moment of checking her makeup, she put it away and turned her attention back to Kristoph. "I have what you've been waiting for." She announced, pulling an envelope from her bag and handing it to Kristoph.

Kristoph took it from her and opened it, then looked through the documents inside carefully. "Excellent," He said, his glasses going shiny in the light. Then he looked at Calisto again. "I need one more packet of documents," He said, and nodded at Ema.

Calisto crossed her arms over her chest and looked outraged. "Are you kidding me? Do you know how long it took me to get the stuff you asked for?"

"Two months and three days," Kristoph said, unfeelingly.

Calisto looked mildly impressed. "You counted."

Kristoph nodded. "Every minute in this wretched city. Surely one of your many, many aliases would suffice."

Now she looked appalled. "My aliases?"

"Yes, Calisto, since you only have about six on you at the moment."

"I'll want extra for it. I want…2,000 additional Swiss Marks on top of what you're paying me."

"Done," Kristoph said without hesitation. "Now find something that will work."

Calisto turned and went over to the table. She set her bag down on it and began to dig around in it. "If I had known you would agree that easily, I would have named a higher price." She muttered.

Ema had stayed silent during the exchange, having realized that the two of them were debating her future and ability to get out of Germany. The other woman extracted a packet and held it out to Kristoph for his inspection. He looked at Ema for a long moment, then peered into the packet, then nodded. "This will do." He looked at Calisto. "Wait here."

Kristoph got to his feet stiffly, then headed down the hall. He returned a few minutes later with an envelope, which he handed to Calisto. "You remember the next steps?"

"I do. But until you show up in Switzerland, I'll be relaxing." Calisto said, putting the envelope Kristoph had given her into her purse and slinging the bag over her shoulder. "See you."

Kristoph didn't reply, instead adjusting his glasses again. The door closed behind Calisto, and then there was silence.

(-)

That night, at dinner, Klavier looks better. His eyes aren't glassy anymore, and he's more alert and more willing – or able – to interact with them.

It made Ema feel relieved, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why.

(-)

The next morning, Klavier dressed in his uniform and went to work again. Ema helped Kristoph clean up the kitchen and then the rest of the small apartment. Kristoph was still limping, though not as badly as he had been immediately after the unfortunate party invitation the other night.

The day passed quietly into evening. Klavier came home and had dinner with them.

Kristoph did not discuss the visit from Calisto at all, other than to say, when Klavier asked about it, "We will be leaving soon."

Ema was sure, when she heard this news, that she felt as relieved as Klavier looked, but nothing more was said about it.

After dinner was finished, and the kitchen cleaned up, Klavier went to his room and was there for so long, that after awhile, Ema drifted back to find him. She found him packing a small valise. "You look like you're getting ready to leave," She said.

"Ja," Klavier agreed. "We will have to be ready to go at any time." He closed the small case and stood up, then brought his guitar in its case over and leaned it against the foot of the bed.

"Will you be sorry to leave?" Ema asked.

"Berlin? No. Germany? Perhaps. It was home once. I don't know what it is anymore, though." Klavier said as he stood up. "I don't know how quickly you will be able to get to America once we are across the border, Fraulien. You might be with us for longer than you planned."

"That's alright." She gave a small smile. "I think I'm getting used to you. Both of you," She added, because while she's been working hard on not letting herself like the cheerful, outgoing Klavier too much, his cold and aloof brother Kristoph made her feel like she was around a cobra, always ready to strike.

It had bothered her last night to realize that, even with Kristoph as a factor, the brothers weren't that bad, and that in another life and another place, Klavier is the kind of guy she would have giggled over with her girlfriends from school, and made silly bets about which of them he would notice first.

Ema rubbed her eyes and wondered when the world had stopped making sense. When the war had started, probably.

"Are you tired, Fraulien?" Klavier asked. He had noticed her rubbing her eyes.

"No, I'm fine." Ema told him. Then they heard the banging knock on the door.

It sounded like the one from the other night when Klavier had been dragged out of the place to go to that party, and Ema felt her heart quail.

In the outer room, they could both hear Kristoph. " _Ach du lieber Himmel_ …" He sounded angry.

Then there were the sound of voices in the outer room, and with a sinking heart Ema knew that the Nazis from the other night were back.

Klavier looked put out by this, but he suspected that they were there for him, and he wasn't sure what to do since he was with Ema. He put a finger to his lips to warn her to stay silent, and walked towards the door, when they both heard footsteps coming in their direction.

Ema turned and threw herself at Klavier. He caught her just as the door opened.

Lt Mander was standing there, and he looked momentarily thrown off. But only for a moment. "Captain, we need to talk," Mander said.

"Lt Mander," Klavier said politely. "Is there a problem?"

"I wanted to make sure that you knew that Herr Himmler will be having another dinner party tomorrow and you should be there, in your dress uniform." Mander said, looking at Ema curiously. From the way she was clinging to Klavier, all he could see was the back of her head.

"Anything else?" Klavier asked.

"You, uh, prefer brunettes?" Mander asked, as casually as he could. Casual didn't work for him, though, there was too much threat in his tone that there was something going on and he knew it and didn't like it.

"I prefer …free-minded women." Klavier said after a brief pause.

Ema would have liked to smile, because she thought Klavier had just alluded to something, either the fact that she was an American or the fact that she had freed herself from the man she'd been forced to work for, but she was afraid to, so she didn't. She had been a little shocked that they had spoken English, but realized that, like with Kristoph only a few days ago, the Nazi must have thought that her native tongue was German or some other Continental language.

"I see," Mander said carefully. "Well since you have already been interrupted, why don't you come to the front room with us. I'd like to speak to your brother about a few things."

There was nothing they could do but follow Mander and the other Nazis to the front room.

Kristoph had been sitting in the living room, reading a book or making a good impression of someone reading while listening for any sounds from the rest of the apartment. On the coffee table in front of the couch was the wine bottle that had been opened at dinner, and Kristoph's glass from dinner, still half-full. He set the book aside when they came into the room, and gave a silent sigh when he saw Ema.

"Herr Gavin, are you aware of what your brother has been doing?" Mander asked pleasantly.

Kristoph looked at Klavier, then Ema. "I don't believe I want to know, Lieutenant. I may be Klavier's guardian, but I am not his mother."

Mander frowned. "Very well. I will take the girl home, and-"

Klavier interrupted at that point. "Your chivalry is duly noted, Lieutenant. But I will see the Fraulien safely home."

Now Mander turned to look at him, suspiciously. Then he looked at Ema. " _Papers, quickly_!" He snapped.

Kristoph's jaw twitched. Calisto's different identities had been pretty flawless, but if there was a flaw in the documents, Mander would find them, and he hadn't thought until now that Ema would need to know the details about the fake profile in the documents to be able to pass as that person. He hadn't expected to need the documents so soon, either.

Ema looked startled, in part because she had no idea what had just been said and it had been clearly directed at her. Klavier spoke up, and answered in English. "She did not bring her papers, Herr Lieutenant. I did not think she would need them for such a short visit. Don't worry. I will vouch for her and see that she gets safely home."

"Well Captain Gavin you have made a grave miscalculation," Mander said grimly. He grabbed Ema's arm. "I will see that she gets home and I will check her papers when we get there and if anything is out of line, she's going to jail and if you're very, very lucky, I won't send your brother to a concentration camp. You seem to forget that I am the one in charge here."

Mander had been so busy ranting, though, that he had failed to notice that behind him, Kristoph had set his book down and gotten to his feet. He took the wine bottle from the table, and in a sudden move, brought it down on Mander's head. The man collapsed.

He hadn't hit the floor before Klavier lunged out and knocked the first soldier away. He had the man's sidearm away from him in an instant and shot the second soldier, who was about to shoot Kristoph. Then he swung back around and shot the soldier he'd disarmed.

The whole incident was over in less than a minute. Ema had fallen back against the chair, a hand pressed to her chest. Kristoph adjusted his glasses, making the lenses go shiny in the light. Klavier lowered the gun he was holding and looked at his brother expectantly.

"It appears we will be leaving tonight." Kristoph said as he took his hand from his glasses. "Someone will have heard the gunshots," He said, looking at klavier, who was taking the sidearms and extra ammunition from the dead soldiers. "We'll have to hurry."

* * *

 **[A/N:]** The Bolivian Army Ending is entirely on purpose.

What do I need to note here? The beginning of this in regards to Ema being in school in the Netherlands was inspired by one of the WWII fiction books I read while researching CD. In the time period in which CD is set, I don't know that Lana would have gone to jail if it came out she was being blackmailed. I may be wrong because that's just conjecture, but I think that there would have been about no tolerance for a man doing that to a woman back then. But in this version, Ema does end up going to Europe.

People in occupied countries during the war could be conscripted and sent back to Germany as slave labor. In this story, we get to see what would have happened if Lt. Mander acted with more foresight than hindsight. And es, I did base this one on a throw-away line from Leitz about how Klavier should have been doing propaganda work.

I did put a warning in the front of this chapter...I have mixed feelings about doing that. I have mixed feeling about this chapter in general, so honest feedback on it would be appreciated.

Happy Memorial Day everyone. Please review!

Alright. Um...I think that's everything, but as always, if there's a question you have, PM me.


	12. A Lawyer and a Gentleman

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

 **Summary** : Kristoph Gavin and Miles Edgeworth face each other in court.

* * *

 **Chapter 12: A Lawyer and a Gentleman**

[Status: Cannon, set after the end of C.D. bonus chapter "Uncle and Nephew."]

 _Courthouse_

 _10:03 a.m._

"Objection!" Edgeworth shouted, slamming his hand down on the desk in front of him. "If the defense has an argument with the witness's statements, he can feel free to state the argument openly and not make allegations."

"Your Honor," Kristoph said, pushing his glasses up on his face. "My arguments are perfectly clear. If they were not understood or were misunderstood to be allegations, that problem lies with the prosecution, not the defense."

Edgeworth slammed both hands down on the desk and glared at Kristoph.

Up in the gallery, Phoenix Wright and Klavier Gavin were watching the proceedings with open interest.

Back at the Defense's bench, Apollo tapped on the Kristoph's shoulder. Apollo was acting as the defense assistant for the trial. "The witness was lying when she said she didn't see the car that night. Press her on that."

Kristoph nodded. There was no real rhyme or reason that he could determine for why Apollo could tell when people were lying, but Apollo hadn't been wrong yet. As soon as there was an opportunity, he would press the witness.

Edgeworth straightened up and shook his head. "Your Honor, the prosecution would like to point out that while the defense has alleged that the witness is being untruthful, there has been no evidence presented to show flaws in the witness's testimony."

"That's because I haven't cross-examined her yet." Kristoph noted, with an unkind smile. Then he slipped into German. "How did the famous navalman say it? I have not yet begun to fight?"

"That would explain why I've been walking all over your case, I suppose." Edgeworth retorted, also in German.

And then it all went downhill from there.

Five minutes into the volley of German insults, Klavier jumped up and ran for the door, looking for all the world like he was about to die laughing.

He went out as Ema came in with Kristopher. She gave Phoenix a confused look and pointed with her free hand over her shoulder in the direction Klavier had gone. Phoenix just shrugged and gestured at the courtroom below, where insult volleying was still ongoing.

The Judge banged his gavel. "Order! Order!" The prosecution and defense both shut up, immediately. "The defense and prosecution will refrain from insulting each other in a foreign language. They will also refrain from fighting in the courtroom. Are you both ready to resume?"

"Of course your honor." Kristoph and Edgeworth said simultaneously, then glared at each other.

Apollo rested his head on one hand. "Boy, Sunday dinner at Phoenix's is gonna be awkward this week. So about the contradiction in the witness's testimony..."

* * *

 **[A/N:]** Look who's back on the netbook, digging out the little bits of CD left lying around. I feel like Granny Weatherwax from Discworld, with my little card that says "I still aten't dead!"

I'm getting eaten alive by RL right now, which is why I've been gone for so long. Ugh. I agree with the folks on DeviantArt that Kristoph and Edgeworth have a lot in common. So...I ran with that for a little bit here. And Klavier can't keep it together because he can translate the German and here are these two stiff-upper-lips types name-calling and insulting each other like school children, in a courtroom no less.

I am hoping to be back with something a little longer the next time I post, so here's hoping! In the meantime, please let me know what you thought.


	13. The First Eclectic Session

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

 **Summary** : Drabbles that did not become full one-shots or make it into a chapter of the main story.

* * *

 **Chapter 13: The First Eclectic Session**

I. Beauty is a Pain

"You said it wouldn't hurt!"

"I never said it wasn't going to hurt," Klavier replied. "I said, _Liebchen_ , that I thought it would hurt less because the lady who did your ear piercing put ice on your earlobe first to try and make it numb. That is not how it happened for me."

Ema set her bag down in the living room as Klavier closed the front door of their house behind them. It had been Ema and Lana's house, but Lana had moved in with Edgeworth after their marriage and left it for Ema and Klavier, who had made it their own. Ema touched her ears very gingerly, expecting them to still be sore, but it wasn't as bad as she expected.

"You should move the earrings around so that the piercing will heal quicker," Klavier advised, having caught her touching her ears.

"Move them around?"

"Twist them. But don't take them out."

Ema did, twisting the small sapphire earrings very gingerly, as though she was afraid they would start to hurt again if she wasn't gentle enough. "How did you get your ear piercing?"

"Oh, I met some Gypsies in Czechoslovakia and one of the women in the camp agreed to pierce my ear for me, for a price, of course. But all she did was pinch my earlobe very hard before she put the needle through." Klavier told her.

Ema made a face. "Sounds wonderful."

"It wasn't that bad, really. Kristoph wasn't happy when he found out, though, and that is probably why he never let me go back to school there."

II. Childless

Miles Edgeworth watched as his nephew Kristopher toddled across the living room floor towards him. He and Lana were watching Krissy tonight while Ema and Klavier were out of town. There were more then enough family members, legal, related and otherwise, who were willing to watch Krissy while his parents were away. He held out his arms. The little boy toddled over and Miles picked him up, setting him on his lap.

It's times like that that Miles almost, almost wants to re-think not having children. But he never acted on that feeling. Lana was willing to not have children, either, having had to raise Ema. Not, she had told him, that Ema had really been a problem, but motherhood had been thrust upon her before she felt ready for it.

Miles knows that Krissy's life will never be like his. If something were to happen to Ema and Klavier, there would be enough family to take Krissy in. If Miles and Lana didn't, then Kristoph certainly would, and then there was Wright and Trucy, Apollo and Kay. There were a lot of people to watch out for Krissy.

But the fear, of having a child left without parents as he himself had been left without parents, did not leave Miles easily even now. And so he would dote on Krissy and any other children Ema and Klavier might have, but that was as close to children as he wanted to be.

Because he couldn't bear it if he had a child that was someday left to the mercy of strangers.

III. Translator Needed

The phone was ringing.

Kristoph looked up from the legal document he was drafting on the tablet in front of him and listened. It was either the phone in the front room of the office or it was the phone in Phoenix's office. He couldn't tell. He gave a half shrug and went back to his writing.

The phone kept ringing though, and a moment later Apollo went sprinting down the hall, calling as he did, "I thought you were watching the phone, Trucy."

There was no answer, but a moment later the phone stopped ringing and Kristoph knew that Apollo had answered it.

He reappeared in front of Kristoph's door a moment later. "Are you busy?"

"Doing some paperwork," Kristoph replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Because that was Phoenix on the phone. It seems that one of the witnesses in the trial he's in speaks only French, and he needs a translator."

"Isn't Klavier still at the courthouse?"

"He is in another trial right now. I guess they tried to find him when they realized what had happened, but Uncle Miles didn't want to interrupt the trial that Klavier was prosecuting."

Kristoph considered it for a moment, then got to his feet and reached for his cane which was hanging on the edge of the desk. "Very well. I'll go. Will you finish the first pleading for the Shreer case?"

"Sure. It'll be good practice." Apollo replied. "You have the file?"

"It's on my desk. Feel free to work in here, if you want." Kristoph said, walking towards the door.

Apollo nodded and entered the office as Kritoph left, heading for the door, and the trial.

IV. Guess Who He learned It From

 _America, Fall 1943_

Apollo slipped into the house, glad for the break from the noise of the factory, even if it was just for the duration of the lunch hour.

He found Klavier at the sink. washing his hands. The German looked tired and dirty. "Still digging potatoes out of the garden?" Apollo guessed.

" _Ja_ ," Klavier replied, reaching for the towel to dry his hands. "I take it you are on lunch break."

"Yes," Apollo replied, pulling open the fridge door and looking through it. There was some pot roast left from dinner from the night before, and the ever-present dish of boiled eggs. Apollo reached for an egg and took the roast out. He peeled the egg quickly; he'd had plenty of experience with them before, and began to eat it.

Klavier was slicing the meat. Apollo finished his egg, then took the bread from the breadbox and set about making himself a sandwich.

Klavier got back into the fridge and pulled out a small bowl of sauerkraut.

"Please tell me you're not going to ruin good beef with that stuff."

The German looked insulted. "I am not ruining it." He took a fork out of the drawer and spread a layer of sauerkraut over the meat. "It tastes better this way."

"Blasphemy," Apollo muttered.

"This is how I prefer it, Herr Forehead," Klavier replied, taking a bite of his food to prove his point. "Besides, even you will admit that the sauerkraut I make is better than what you have eaten in the past."

"I will admit that, but that doesn't mean I like to see you put it on good roast beef."

 _America, Fall, 1945_

"It just seems strange that's all."

"Don't worry, it'll be fine. We usually come home at lunch and eat leftovers from the night before anyway." Apollo reassured Kristoph as he opened the passenger door and stepped out of the other man's car, which was parked in front of Phoenix's house. Kristoph was slowly starting to adjust to life in America, but some things, like the invitation to raid Phoenix's fridge during lunch hour, still threw him off.

"Very well," Kristoph said, following Apollo into the house.

There was some pot roast left in the refrigerator. Apollo pulled it put and set it on the counter, then went to the breadbox to find the half loaf bread he knew was there. Behind him, Kristoph searched through the kitchen drawers until he found a knife to cut the meat with.

"Klavier always used to have such a weird way of eating beef." Apollo mentioned as he dug past the cookies Trucy had baked the other day and put in the breadbox, looking for the bread.

"Oh, really?" Kristoph asked absently as he looked through the refrigerator. He found what he was looking for after a moment of searching and pulled out a bowl of sauerkraut.

"Yeah, he used to take beef and layer it with..." Apollo trailed off as he turned around to see Kristoph taking a bite of roast spread generously with sauerkraut. "You know, on second thought, never mind."

* * *

 **[A/N:]** Guess who's back?

So you may have been wondering where I was all summer. That's a fair question. I was busier than I planned to be this summer. First, I got involved at the Summer Reading Program at the local library, but it was during this program that I discovered the Great American Read challenge. I can't believe some of the books that ended up on that list, but to participate in the challenge at my library, you didn't have to red all 100, just 20 of them. So I have been working on that for a long time now, but I'm halfway through both of the last two books on my list. (It sounded like a good idea when I started it back in May, but for this whole month, I've just wanted it to be over.)

I did some travelling this summer. Towards the end of summer, I also decided to try out to be published in a local journal, so I had to write something entirely new for that. That particular problem was what made me stop working on CD and my other writing project because this story I wrote for publication suffered several schedule slips. However, it did get turned in last night, so here I am tonight!

I don't have a huge amount of stuff to say about this chapter. These are, as the summary says, just things that I wanted to include in CD that I couldn't fit anywhere in the main story and couldn't get long enough to be stand alone stories here, so have some drabbles. All of them, except the last one, take place around Chapter 59-60 of the main story. If you have any questions, please let me know, and please review!


	14. Comin' In On a Wing and a Prayer

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

 **Summary** : Apollo reunites with Clay Terran after the war, and Clay tells a story about some undercover work he did during the war.

 **[A/N:]** It took me forever to figure out what I wanted to do about Clay Terran in this story, because I was upset that he died in the game before we barely got a chance to know him. I think I've settled on his story CD-wise...we'll just have to see if the next story involving Clay ever gets finished. This one, though, is me writing Clay into an old radio program called the Vale of Darkness. More on that at the end.

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Comin' in a Wing and a Prayer**

The young man who walked up to the law office was whistling "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition" under his breath as he approached the door. He paused on the porch of the building and looked at the nameplates on the sign. The plate for the name of the building itself had been replaced with a sheet of paper that read, "Wright & Gavin Law Offices." Several other names, heavily scrawled out in blocks of black ink, showed that some changes had been taking place.

The man looked at the nameplates again.

Phoenix Wright, Attorney at Law

Kristoph Gavin, Attorney at Law

Trucy Wright, Talent Agent

Apollo Justice, Attorney at Law

He looked at the building name again, then shrugged and pushed the door open. He'd never been in the building before, but he'd been in stranger places during the war and was not afraid to let himself into a building.

The reception area was empty. He pushed open the first door, right off the reception area, and looked at a simply furnished office. On the wall hung a picture of a man with spiky hair, with an arm around one older woman and one younger. The younger was wearing robes that reminded one of an Asian country, but the older was dressed in a woman's business suit, with a scarf around her neck.

He closed the door and went down the hall to the next office. There were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on either side of the office door, and two windows behind the desk let in the afternoon light. A pastel painting was on the wall to the left as one came in the door.

The man was beginning to wonder if maybe the person he was looking for wasn't in. He backed out of the office and went back into the hallway. There was a staircase, and at the end of the hall was another door. He took a deep breath and pushed it open.

Apollo Justice had been sweating over the papers on his desk, trying to look at them with the same critical eye he knew Kristoph would view them with later, when the door to his office was suddenly pushed open. He looked up, expecting to see Trucy, but it wasn't her. "Can I get some legal help here? I was thinking maybe this Phoenix Wright guy could help…?" The man grinned.

Apollo recognized the man standing there. "Clay! You're back!" he jumped up from his desk, all thoughts of the document he was working on, and raced over to hug Clay.

Clay returned the hug with enthusiasm. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Polo?" The pair released each other. "I see you reached your dream, huh? I saw your name plate on the door on my way in."

"You were flying before I was practicing law." Apollo said. "I got your letter about flight school, remember?"

"Who cares who got to their dream first? We both made it."

Apollo led the way back into his office, and Clay pulled up the other chair that had been sitting against the wall, bringing it closer to the desk. "So what is the proper name of this place?"

"Uh, good question. Trucy wants to call it something that lets people know that she's a talent agent, but Kristoph wants it say "law office" or something similar, and Phoenix is stuck in the middle," Apollo said.

Clay grinned at him. "Sounds like you're stuck too."

Apollo shrugged. "Well, I agree with Kristoph, but don't tell Trucy I said that. Nevermind that, though. How long are you here for?"

"I'm still doing some flying, but I'm looking for a place to live now, and not military barracks this time," Clay said. "Who's Kristoph Gavin?"

"Klavier's brother. I know I mentioned Klavier in my letters, and I'm pretty sure that I mentioned Kristoph at some point."

"So he is the German. I guess I never picked up on the fact that Klavier's last name was Gavin, even though I'm sure you must have mentioned it. How do a couple of Germans end up with such an English sounding surname?"

"Search me. I never thought about it enough to wonder about it." Apollo replied. "I'm surprised you remember so much about the letters I sent you."

Clay waved his hand as though waving the words away. "I always liked getting your letters, especially when I came back from assignment and there were multiple letters. It broke up the monotony of life over there. Assignments undercover kept me busy, and then I was bored to death in between them because once I started working undercover, they wouldn't let me fly anymore."

"You'll come over for dinner tonight, right?"

"Home cooking? Food that I didn't have to make?" Clay asked. "You don't have to ask me twice."

(-)

It was a crowded table at Phoenix's house that night. Besides Phoenix's family, the Gavin brothers and Ema were there.

Klavier was the only one who had heard of Clay prior to his showing up for dinner, so there were plenty of questions, mostly from Phoenix and Trucy, about how long Clay had known Apollo.

It wasn't until dinner was finished and the group was sitting in the living room with cups of coffee or tea that Trucy makes it to the next subject that she wants to know about. "What did you do during the war?"

"I flew planes for the United States Army Air Force early in the war. Then I get sent do undercover work instead, once the higher-ups discovered I was fluent in French." Clay told her.

"Where did you learn French?" Phoenix wanted to know.

"My grandfather taught me. I learned some German, too."

"Really?" Ema asked.

"Sure! _Isch bin Deutsch gelernt wie ich überm See war._ " clay said, sounding pleased.

Klavier and Kristoph, on the other hand, just looked confused. "What were you trying to say?" Klavier asked.

"That I learned German while I was overseas."

"That is not what you said." Kristoph assured him.

"So what did he say?" Trucy asked.

"That he learned German while hovering over a lake." Kristoph told her.

Clay grinned, a little sheepishly. "I said I learned it. I didn't say I was any good at it."

Trucy was already on to the next question she had for Clay. "What was the best thing that you saw while you were in Europe? I bet the best news you got was that the war was over. But what was the best thing you saw?"

No one is really surprised by the question. Trucy has even been known to get Kristoph, when the man is in a more relaxed mood, to open up about life in Germany, at least pre-war.

Clay considered the question for a moment. "I guess the best thing I saw while I was over there was the Adriatic Sea."

"Really?" Apollo asked. "This from the guy who told me that he flew over the English Channel so many times that he got seasick looking out the window of a plane."

Clay grinned. "Okay. The story of how I wound up seeing the Adriatic Sea ranks as one of the craziest stories I have from my time in the war. Polo knows that I was serving as a pilot for the United States army Air Force, but when they discovered I was fluent in French, I was asked to do undercover work. I did several missions where I pretended to be French or part of the French Armed Forces. One of those missions had me pretending to be a Frenchman in Yugoslavia. Some people in Yugoslavia were on the side of the Allies, and some were on the side of the Germans." At this juncture, Clay paused and looked at Kristoph and Klavier. "I'm afraid your country doesn't come out looking too good in this story.

The brothers looked at each other for a long moment, the Kristoph said, "I don't think you can tell us anything that we don't know."

Clay shrugged and took a seat on the hearth in the living room. "Okay. I was under the impression that I was introducing myself to a Yugoslav who was on the Allies' side. I was wrong and he was on the side of the Germans, so I got sent to a prison camp."

"The Russians were moving in, though, and so the guards got jittery and deserted so a bunch of us escaped. I joined up with a group of escaped prisoners that were being led by a British Major Ramston. They had made contact with British Intelligence and were directed into Rajak Pass in the Montenegro Mountains. So we set out for the pass."

"Meanwhile, we were getting pursued by the Nazi SS. I found out from Captain Sanders, who was one of the only Americans in the group in the beginning, that there were three thousand men chasing us."

"How many prisoners were in your group?" Phoenix asked.

"About 250 when we first set out. Later we got up to about 300 when were joined by some more Americans, Irish, and Russians. And that count includes the women and children who were with us" Clay said. "We set out for the mountains but the Jerries, eh, sorry, the SS was on our tracks. But they didn't really engage us too much, and finally Major Ramston went back to speak to their leader, Major Scheer, because he thought that maybe the war had ended."

"It had not ended, as it turned out, unfortunately. But Major Scheer made Major Ramston an offer that was too good to pass up. He offered a truce to Major Ramston until our group had reached the entrance to Rajak pass. Major Ramston, being a wise man, promptly took him up on his offer and we set out to the pass."

"Why did he offer you a truce?" Trucy asked. She had been listening with rapt attention.

"He offered Major Ramston a truce because he and his men were going to get sent to the Russian front after we had been dealt with and he didn't want to go. He was hoping to drag the chase on. He was hoping to get three weeks or more out of pretending to hunt us, and hoping the war would be over by then." Clay said, then looked thoughtful.

"Major Scheer was a prominent SS man, but with a lot of old-fashioned ideals that his colleagues didn't really like," Kristoph, who had been sitting in one of the armchairs with a cup of tea, spoke up suddenly. "He would have done better in another branch of the Wehrmacht, or a different war."

"Yeah, I got the feeling that he was better suited for the Great War - the first one." Clay acknowledged, then continued with his story. "The British Intelligence had given us the wrong information when Major Ramston contacted them. There was supposed to be no way through the pass, which meant that we were walking into a trap. British Intelligence tried to contact us, but they couldn't get through to us, so they sent one of their operatives, Lt. Salle, to intercept us. Unfortunately, Colonel Horton found us first." At this juncture Clay paused. "How do I describe Colonel Horton to you?"

"I won't quote what you wrote me." Apollo volunteered.

"Yeah, not with your little sister here you won't." Clay agreed.

"I take it Colonel Horton wasn't a welcome addition to your group." Ema spoke up.

"To put it very, very mildly, no he was not. He started doing his best to get us killed starting on the day he airdropped in. The British could have sent us more blankets, more warm clothes, more food, radio equipment to replace what was destroyed, but no. They send us the most pompous idiot in the British army. I figured later they did that because if he got a few escaped prisoners killed, that would be easier to explain to the public then his getting a platoon of soldiers killed.

"Major Ramstom did a good job of keeping everyone together and in a cohesive group working on getting to the pass, and that moron had all undone in minutes." Clay fumed. Even now, so long after the fact, his listeners could see that this part of the story frustrated him. "He set up all sorts of rules and regulations and what really set all the men in the group off was he broke the truce with Major Scheer and demanded that Lt. Salle, who had caught up with us too late to help ward off Colonel Horton, would have to go back and lay mines because it was our job to fight the Germans every step of the way. Nevermind that, as Major Ramston and Captain Sanders tried to point out to him, Major Scheer could have crushed our column anytime he took the inclination to. But he kept his word and he didn't attack us. That wasn't good enough for Colonel Horton. We had to fight the Germans."

"Did you fight them?" Trucy asked.

"I never did fight them, in this particular situation. The rear guard for our column did, but that didn't happen until later. Captain Sanders was so angry over what had happened that he went back and warned Major Scheer about what had happened and that the truce had ended."

"Should he have done that?" Trucy wanted to know.

Clay looked apprehensive. "Should he have done that? From the perspective of fighting a war, no, because he cost us our element of surprise. From the perspective of playing fair with a German Officer who had played fair with Major Ramston? Yes. And I was glad he went back to tell Major Scheer what had happened, too. Sometimes, the smart thing to do and the right thing to do aren't the same thing."

"Anyway, Lady Agnes Collier finally got Horton to see sense. She was, well, she was something else. She minded the women and children. That was her self-appointed task. And she kept Major Ramston and Colonel Horton in line, too, or she tried." He grinned. "She was the one who browbeat Horton into not fighting the Germans. It was just as well, because all those of us who were not British soldiers had decided we were going into the pass with or without Colonel Horton and the rest of the British."

"Mutiny?" Phoenix asked.

"Yes...well, no. Those of us who weren't British didn't have to follow Colonel Horton, and he had earned none of the goodwill that Major Ramston did. Anyway, I was volunteered to fight in a war, not commit suicide by taking on a German force ten times larger than the column I was with." Clay noted.

"So you missed out on fighting that time." Trucy supplied.

Clay gave her another grin. "Don't worry, I made up for it elsewhere. Horton had steered us right past the entrance to Rajak Pass, and we had to backtrack to get back to it since Lt. Salle had met a young woman whose family used to live on the mountains and who knew a way through it. Major Scheer was not very pleased with us by this point so when Captain Sanders went to see if we could re-establish the truce with him, we didn't get nearly as good a deal as we had gotten the first time. Plus we now had a division of Panzers coming after us too, and once they had caught up with us, Major Scheer would have no choice but to radio his headquarters and probably get recalled and sent to the Russian front.

"We made it into the pass not too long before the Panzers arrived, and once we were in the pass, our truce with Major Scheer was officially over. The rear guard engaged Major Scheer's men from time to time, he never got sent off the chase for us as far as we knew, but the for the rest of us who weren't in the rear guard, we just kept walking. We had had some help from the sympathetic partisans, but they refused to come into Rajak with us, all except for Lt. Salle's girlfriend. We had been given some donkeys and carts too, and we used those for the children, the wounded, the women and the supplies, in that order, but we couldn't take the carts through the pass with us. It was too narrow. So we put the supplies on the donkeys and went on foot.

"The pass was a tall, narrow chamber between two walls of rock, and every sound echoed in it. When we got to the end of the pass, there was a rock wall to block our way. Someone climbed it and tied a rope at the top and we climbed up, one at a time, to get to the top of the pass."

"How did the women and children get out?" Ema interrupted.

"The same way we did. The women had to climb. The kids, some of us soldiers carried them on our backs up that rope. The wounded and supplies we took with us the same way," Clay said, as though it were just that simple.

~xXx~

" _It's so tall, Edouard," The little boy said in his ear, looking up at the rope that seemed to stretch up forever._

 _Clay had been using his fake identity for so long on this trip that being called Edouard no longer threw him for a loop. That was always the part he had the most trouble with when he was undercover, was learning to answer to whatever name he'd been assigned. Edouard Devereaux, on the other hand, had been lost, imprisoned, or running around the Yugoslav countryside with fellow escapees for so long now that Clay no longer felt the inclination to look around for Edouard when his name was called._

" _It's not that tall, Mateja," He told the child. The boy couldn't have been much older than six. "I'll climb it. You just hold on to me really tight and don't let go."_

 _Clay had been pressed into Lady Agnes Collier's service upon her discovery that he was bilingual. Not everyone in the group was, and she wanted people who translate for the women and children who did not speak English. Colonel Horton had tried to object, since it meant that she had taken about seven men away from the regular duties for the column and turned them into what Francois, who had overheard the conversation, had quite flatly described as babysitters. Horton had not been able to deter her and given up arguing about it._

" _He called us babysitters. That's actually what he called us," Francois had complained after it happened. Eric Thorton, an escaped American prisoner of war whose mother's family was Polish, who spoke the language, and for that reason had also been drafted into his new position by Lady Agnes, asked if Francois would rather be part of the rear guard._

 _That had shut the Frenchman up._

 _Clay took the rope in both hands as Mateja clung tightly to his back like a tiny monkey and hid his face in the ragged remains of Clay's clothes. It had been a long trip, hard trip in Yugoslavia, and Clay was looking forward to getting back to Allied territory as soon as possible. His jacket had been a gift from one of the partisans, as had the slightly-to-large pair of boots that he was now wearing, He can't remember the name or face of that partisan now._

Polo's probably given up on me and thinks I'm dead. _The thought came out of nowhere; and he paused halfway up the rope. What was a person supposed to do when the only friend they had probably believed that they were dead?_

" _Edouard?" Mateja squeaked out next to his ear, and Clay shook his head and resume climbing._

 _The rope looked like it stretched on forever, but before Clay had even really expected it, he was at the top. The others who had come up before he had took Mateja up, and then helped Clay scramble up onto the top of the cliff._

~xXx~

"When we got to the top of the cliff we had to descend down a slope to get to a tunnel that ran back down through the mountains. The rear guard had been lagging behind us quite a bit, because they had fortified the pass a little and the SS ran into their choke point which made the rear guard quite happy," Clay continued. "They took very few casualties because of it, and when they reached the rope, they came up behind us and Captain Sanders said they pulled it up after them. Then they had the vantage from the top of the pass. The rest of us were moving towards the tunnel. We had to go through it, then across a ravine, and then, on the other side of the ravine, it was all downhill to the sea."

~xXx~

" _You're not nearly as cute as the last gal I shacked up with, Edouard."_

"Ta gueule!" _Clay shot back, tugging his blanket a little further away from the offender, one of the three men he was sharing a small tent with._ "Va te faire cuire un oeuf! _I have no idea what woman would want to be close to your ugly face anyway."_

" _Would y'all kindly have the decency," Eric Thornton, who was lying in the row on the other side of Clay, cut in, "to shut up? Some of us are tryin' to sleep here."_

 _The scarcity of blankets had been a bit of an issue ever since Lady Agnes had gotten into it with Colonel Horton over the lack thereof. It was still cold up here, high in the mountains. The men and women who did not spend the nights together - and fewer men had that option now that the partisan women had left - ended up sleeping crowded together in tents to share whatever body heat didn't dissipate through the thin tent canvas._

" _Where did London find these tents, anyway?" Laszlo, who was crowded in the tent with the other three men, asked. "I swear, this canvas is so thin I can see the stars."_

" _The stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas!" Eric sang._

 _Clay considered swatting the other American but decided he was too tired to go through with it. "_ Allez _," he muttered. "Now who's trying to sleep?"_

" _We should all sleep," Laszlo said. "We have more walking to do in the morning."_

 _That reminder was enough to quiet the group. For a few minutes there was nothing but the sound of tossing and turning and shuffling as the four of them tried to get comfortable._

 _Clay was almost asleep when he heard Laszlo hiss, "Who's there?" Then he realized that the rustling he was hearing was not the grass, but someone fumbling with the door to the tent. He rolled onto his side so that when the tent opened, he wouldn't see whoever came in as though they were standing upside down. The flap opened, and a small, malnourished form burst into the tent and clung to Clay like a frightened animal._

" _Mateja?" Clay asked._

" _I'm scared, Edouard. I want to sleep with you." Mateja said._

" _What happened?" Clay asked._

" _I dreamed of the camp, and when they took Momma away," Mateja whimpered._

" _What's wrong?" Eric asked. Clay's conversation with Mateja had been solely in French._

" _Mateja's had a bad dream," Except it wasn't a bad dream, it was reality. "He wants to stay with me tonight."_

" _If I say I don't care," Laszlo began, "Will I be able to get some sleep before the sun comes up?" Eric had sat up when the tent flap opened, now he too began to settle back under the motley collection of coats, canvas, and thin blankets that made up their bedding._

 _It was the last occupant of the tent, the one whose name Clay could never remember - Vladislaus? It was something like that - who had to start problems. "I never took you for a father figure, Edouard. You making up for the parents the kid doesn't have?"_

" _Let it go," Clay warned him._

" _Life is hard," The man sneered. "Tell the kid to get over it."_

 _This was too much for Clay. He swung around to face the other man. "You don't have to be a complete animal about it, you know," He snapped._

" _Life is hard! The sooner the kid learns it, the less chance he's going to have to be disappointed." The other man shot back._

" _Gentleman," A firm British voice said outside the tent, and all the men suddenly looked like they'd bitten into lemons._

 _Lady Agnes._

" _Will you please come out here?" She asked._

 _Like school boys who had been caught disrupting class, the four men trudged out of the tent, stood in front of the woman in question, and tried not to look like they had been doing anything wrong. Clay still had Mateja clinging to him._

" _Gentlemen, is there a reason you are disrupting the sleep of those around you?" Lady Agnes asked._

 _The four of them tried not to look at each other, feeling that that would be a sign of guilt._

" _We had a...disagreement." Laszlo volunteered after a moment._

" _I see," Lady Agnes said. Even in the tattered remains of what had once been the travelling outfit of a British Peer, with a man's too-large overcoat wrapped around a frame made thin from time in the labor camps, she still managed to be a force to be reckoned with. "And you think this disagreement is important enough for ou to disturb those around you?"_

"Oui, Madame, _I do," Clay spoke up. His glare shot daggers at Vlad, or whatever his name was. "But I'm sure it won't happen again."_

 _Vlad looked unrepentant, but Eric and Laszlo were glaring at him too._

" _I see," Lady Agnes repeated, then she noticed Mateja. "And why is that child with you?"_

" _He had a nightmare, Madame, and wanted to sleep with me," Clay told her._

 _She seemed to accept this. "Very well, but gentlemen, try to keep it down. We will no doubt have another long day ahead of us, trying to reach that miserable tunnel that will get us out of these awful mountains. If Mateja," She also had the uncanny ability to remember the names of everyone she had ever met and put their faces and names together instantly in her mind, "would like to sleep with you following his nightmare, I have no issue with it. But you had better take these."_

 _It was then that Clay noticed that what she had been carrying over her left arm was, in fact, a pair of blankets. Thin blankets, but still blankets. "You might need them," Lady agnes finished. "Now gentlemen, I will bid you a good night."_

 _There were assorted mutters of "Yes Ma'am" and "Goodnight" from the group, then they crawled back into the tent. Eric spread the additional blankets out, and they all went back to work making themselves comfortable._

 _It was just as Clay was about to drift off to sleep, with Mateja sleeping on his chest, that he heard Eric whisper, "Edouard."_

" _Mmm?" was Clay's nonsensical response._

" _Next time the kid wants to sleep with us, let him."_

 _The extra blankets had really made a difference._

~xXx~

"We reached this tunnel through the mountains and took it, and it was probably the easier part of the trip," Clay said.

Trucy was really invested in the story. "Did the rear guard catch up with you?"

Clay smiled, but sadly. "Not exactly. Colonel Horton decided that he was going to have the tunnel blown up behind us because he wanted to stop the Jerries, I mean, the SS. He decided to do this with our rear guard left behind to the mercy of the SS, which is how he almost started the second mutiny."

"Was that man on the wrong side of the war?" Phoenix asked.

"That kind of stupidity on the other side of the war," Kristoph spoke up again, "Would have gotten the Colonel a revolver with a single bullet left on his bed."

"Wish we could have done that to him at the time," Clay muttered under his breath.

Trucy was not deterred from the original question. "Did the people who were left behind get out before the tunnel got blown up?"

"Everyone get out except Lt. Arkanov and his Russians. They stayed, along with one Irishman. But someone did go back and get everyone else out before the tunnel got blown up," Clay said. "On the other side of the tunnel was a bridge of three ropes that we all had to cross. The kids and wounded we carried, as well as the supplies. The maximum weight we could have on it was about three people. The women went across one at a time with a man in front of and behind her. But we all made it across."

Now a grin was spread across Clay's face, and the look in his eyes showed that his mind was a long ways away. "The Adriatic Sea was the best thing I ever saw in the war. We came down the mountains, with the sun setting behind us, and there was strip of blue off in the distance and it was the sea, the British were waiting to get to get us to Allied territory. And when I saw the sea, that was when I knew that we were going to make it."

~xXx~

 _The sun was setting as the tired group descended the mountain. Though they were tired, they were elated. They were through the mountain, and almost to the see._

 _Then they saw a dark blue strip, off on the horizon, and cheering and clapping broke out._

 _Mateja had long ago gotten tired and was hanging on Clay's back again, but he roused at the sound of the clapping. "What is it?"_

 _Clay's grin couldn't have been wider. "It's the sea, Mateja! It's the sea!_

 _"We made it."_

* * *

 **[A/N:]** So, back in 2017 I started listening to an old time radio program called The Vale of Darkness. I listened to it in the summer, long before I started CD, but at the time I started it, I never finished it. this summer, while I was traveling, I did. And I was listening to it - the story about the escapees is far, far more interesting than the soap opera about Lt Salle's romance with the woman who betrayed the group, imho - I was thinking, how can this have a happy ending?

But it had a good ending. I won't say happy because yeah, Lt Arkanov and his Russians, well, they stayed behind. But the ending was good. It's free online in some of the Old time Radio Libraries in the US. And I thought, I've got to incorporate this into CD somehow.

And that was when I figured out what I was going to do with Clay Terran.

I changed Clay from wanting to be an astronaut to wanting to be a pilot because of the timeline issues here. The Space Race didn't begin in earnest until the late 1950s (and this chapter is another one that's set between the last chapter and epilogue of CD proper.) Sputnik, the first satellite, which was launched by Russia, didn't go up until 1957. The chapter title comes from a WWII song.

Alright, what else? Thanks to Enkida over at Writer's Anonymous for the bad German in this chapter. It's much appreciated!

Oh, and when you've finished reviewing, hop over to YouTube and watch Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Uptown Funk by The Storyteller. I was never big fan of the song, but it's worth watching to see Godot throw a cup of coffee at Apollo's head. And then go watch Wright & Edgeworth - How to Save a Life by Aura Blackquill. I'll give you a feels warning for that one.

Merry Christmas! Please review!


	15. From Dusk to Dawn

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

 **Summary** : Another AU of an AU. France, 1944. An idea was coming together in Clay's mind. "You know Gavin, it occurs to me that you are a real lousy Nazi." "I am insulted by the allegation that I am a Nazi. I am a German soldier, not a Nazi," Klavier said coolly. 15. From Dusk to Dawn

 **Note** : I have rescued my muse, finally. It was trapped in something resembling the Le Brea Tar Pits, but I got it back. Blah! Throughout CD proper I toyed with the idea of "what if all of our stars were actually in the war?" I'm glad I didn't pursue that idea any further at the time, because this took forever to finish. I've played with history here maybe more than I did in CD, but I hope I did it respectfully. More notes at the bottom, as usual.

* * *

 **Chapter 15: From Dusk to Dawn**

 _France, 1944_

"Isn't this great, Apollo? We always said that if we were rich we'd travel to Europe and see all the great sights. And now we can!" Lieutenant Clay Terran said. He was standing on a piece of rubble, looking out over a field. A few scattered remnants of farm houses still stood; heavy fighting had decimated most of the area.

"Yeah, Clay, this is exactly what I had in mind when I said it would be great to travel Europe. The rocket attack last night was a nice touch." Captain Apollo Justice, if asked, wouldn't say that he was unhappy. He wasn't exactly unhappy, but it was hard to be happy in war.

"Ah, don't worry about them. We've got the Jerrys on the run," Clay said cheerfully.

"You might want to get down off of there. If there are any enemy soldiers nearby, you're an easy target." Apollo pointed out.

Clay complied, jumping down back to the field. "Are we moving forward tonight? I know we're out, uh, a little ahead of the rest of the force."

"I've got orders to stay here, hold the place if we can, and if not, we fall back," Apollo said as the pair set off across the field. "Once reinforcements get here, we can get on with our real jobs."

"Do we have supplies for an extended stay?"

"I think so. We've got plenty of ammunition and a lot of medical supplies. The real question is if we're going to have food."

"If not, we'll have to live off the land," Clay said, looking around them. "Well, not that much to see for the land. I hope we don't have to use that in lieu of supplies."

A flash of movement made both men reach for their guns. "What is that?" Apollo demanded.

Clay re-holstered his sidearm and reached for the binoculars handing from their cord around his neck. "It's…" He lowered the binoculars and looked confused. "It's a kid."

"A kid?" Apollo asked, giving him an incredulous look.

"Yeah, a little kid." Clay said, giving his friend a confused look.

"A battlefield is no place for a child," Another voice said, and the pair turned to see Igor Sokolov coming up behind them, his rifle in hand. His rifle was an old World War I model that his father had used in the war and that Igor had insisted on using as much as he could, even when the American unit he'd joined had offered him newer, better weapons.

The Russian had been working in France before the war, and after the war had stayed on to engage in espionage until the town he had lived in was liberated by the odd-jobs brigade, known as the Flying Sidewinders, that Apollo was in charge of. Then he had joined them in their fight through France towards Germany.

"We know," Apollo said.

"Let's track that kid down and get him to safety if we can." Clay suggested earnestly.

"Agreed," Apollo said.

The three men split up. " _Kind_!" Clay called, followed by Igor's, " _Enfant_!"

Igor was the first to spot the small dark haired boy, heading towards one of the ruins of the small town. " _Enfant_!" He called again, following the child.

The boy glanced back once, looked alarmed, and then darted away. " _Enfant_!" Igor called again. He followed the boy across the field.

Behind him, Apollo and Clay had realized that Igor was on to something and followed him.

The boy crawled over some rubble and went to part of a foundation of a building that was still standing. He was holding a battered canteen in one hand as he crawled through the rubble. Lying against the wall was a young man with blond hair, wearing the uniform of a German soldier. The boy had just knelt by the soldier when Igor appeared behind him.

"Child, what are you doing?" Igor asked. He spoke in French.

"Go away." The boy replied. He looked terrified.

Igor did not go away. He strode over the prone soldier and rolled the man onto his back. Blue eyes fluttered open at the movement. "Ah, a Boche. And still alive, I see." Igor said.

"Leave him alone!" The boy cried, yanking on Igor's uniform shirt.

Igor batted the kid away. He had heard all the reports of fighting on the Eastern front, and knew what his homeland had gone through at the hands of Germans. He was not feeling forgiving, and so far had managed to take no prisoners with his American allies – who accepted surrenders more willingly than Igor liked – none the wiser to it. "I'm going to solve a problem for you." He said, raising the rifle with its bayonet up over the soldier.

A gunshot rang out and Igor jumped back, startled. He hadn't been hit, as far as he knew. He turned and saw Apollo, who looked furious and who was still holding his sidearm at the ready. "What do you think you're doing?" Apollo demanded. Behind him, Clay slid into the remnants of the building. The boy was clinging to the soldier and crying. Clay tried to be gentle as he pulled the child away to check on the soldier.

"We don't kill people just because we feel like it." Apollo spat. "What do you think you were doing, Corporal?"

Igor looked more annoyed about being stopped then about the fact he'd been caught. "Captain Justice, do you know what the Boches have done?"

"Corporal, I don't care what they've done!" Apollo shot back. "I'm not gonna stand about while you skewer someone who's no threat to you or anyone else here!"

"You Americans are weak," Igor spat.

"Corporal Sokolov, I think I've heard quite enough out of you. Get back to camp." Apollo ordered.

Igor gave a sarcastic salute and stomped off on the direction he'd come.

Apollo watched him go and then turned back to Clay. "How is he?"

"Feverish," Clay said, "but alive." He unbuttoned the German's uniform. "Ah-ha." There was a gunshot wound in the man's side.

The boy pulled on Clay's sleeve and said something to him.

"What's the kid saying?" Apollo asked, coming down to join his friend.

"He would like for us to…help his friend." Clay said, sounding confused by the message he had just translated. He looked at Apollo. "What do you want to do?"

"Let's take them both back to camp for the moment." Apollo decided.

(-)

"Your German soldier was shot by a German weapon." Pierce Nichody announced, stripping his gloves off outside the operating room.

"Not my German soldier!" Apollo protested.

"Sure he is. Unless you want to give him back to Igor who will render the outcome of Dr. Nichody's surgery a moot point."

Apollo gave his friend a long look. "Clay, you are not helping right now."

"Nonetheless," Nichody interrupted. "He was shot by a German weapon. I extracted the bullet because I had to open the wound to try and clean out the infection."

"Will he recover?" Apollo asked.

"If he lives through the infection I have no reason to believe he wouldn't," Nichody said. "Now if you will excuse me, I'm late." He stepped past them, out into the night.

"Where is he going?"

"Probably late for his date with his phonograph and classical music records," Clay said, then noticed the look Apollo was giving him. "I'm not joking. You ever walk by his tent at night?"

Apollo rubbed his eyes. "This day has been way too long. What do we know about the prisoner?"

"I'm glad you asked." Clay pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "I can't figure out anything from his dog tags, but I found this paper and tried to translate it. His last name is Gavin, but that's all I've gotten out of it." The letter wasn't the only thing he had found while going through the German's uniform. A book bound in brown leather, small enough to fit in a pocket and wrapped in oilcloth, had come of the search as well, but he hadn't had time to look at that in any detail either.

"Are you going to pour over your German to English dictionary for the rest of the night, trying to figure it out?"

"I might! Think of what a great exercise this will be." Clay was fluent in both English and French, and his new mission since the war had begun to turn in the Allies' favor was to learn German.

Apollo sighed. "I'm going back to my tent. I'm overdue for writing a letter to Trucy. You do what you want."

(-)

Most of the fighting has moved past this encampment, but they've been told to wait here until they're told otherwise.

It's not generally what the Sidewinders do, but for now, they are acting as reinforcements for this little Allied outpost.

Crickets were chirping when Ema stepped out of her tent and walked to the medical tent. She went through the small medical tent until she came to wing where those who were recovering from surgery were kept.

Only one bed was occupied at the moment: a German soldier, stripped to waist with bandages wrapped around his abdomen. His left hand was cuffed to a bar attached to the bed, with an IV in his left arm. He was wrapped in a couple of blankets, and still unconscious from the surgery.

Ema checked his pulse and temperature, nothing them on her chart, and then the sound of someone sniffling caught her attention. It wasn't her patient. She looked around and then heard the sound again. She knelt down and peered under the bed. A pair of brown eyes stared back at her.

"Hello," Ema said, looking at the child. "Who are you?"

There was no response, so she switched to French and repeated the question.

"I'm Peter," The boy replied, sniffling.

"What are you doing here, Peter?" Ema asked.

"The soldiers brought Klavier here," Peter said, and Ema filed that name away for later. From what she had heard, Clay had been able to get very little information on their prisoner. "So I came too."

"Okay," Ema said, standing back up. Peter crawled out from under the bed and looked up at her.

"Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?" Ema asked, looking back at the little boy. He pointed at the IV line, where it went into Klavier's arm.

"No, it doesn't hurt." Ema told him.

"It looks like it hurts," Peter said, and looked like he was upset at the sight of it.

Ema thought it over. "Here." She came back with gauze and adhesive plaster, and taped the gauze over the IV insertion site. "Now it's bandaged, so it won't hurt. Okay?"

Peter nodded solemnly and watched as she finished up and turned to leave.

(-)

Clay was pouring over the letter he'd taken from Gavin as well as his German-English Dictionary, trying to piece any information together that might help him learn more about their prisoner, when there came a light rapping at the door to the tent.

He cast a glance at Apollo, who was sound asleep in his cot, and then went to answer the door. He opened it to find Ema standing there. She beckoned him out of the tent with one finger. Clay followed her silently out into the night. When they were far enough from the tent that he was sure Apollo wouldn't hear them, he said, "The beckoning finger. Not a good sign. What's wrong?"

"We have a little bit of a problem." Ema said, leading the way back to the medical tent. He followed her into the tent and into the recovery area. There, she pointed out the cot that Klavier was in, and the child curled up underneath the cot.

"Oh man. The kid is still here?" Clay asked, looking nervous.

"Yes. I get the feeling that he has nowhere else to go." Ema said, her voice flat.

"Uh…the kid…"

"Peter." Ema supplied.

"I hate to tell him to leave, but should he really be in here?" Clay asked.

"I don't know." Ema replied. "But I do not think the kid is going to leave. He is very attached to Klavier."

"Klavier?"

Ema gave him a curious look. "I guess the soldier's name is Klavier. At least that's what Peter – the kid – said."

Clay looked tired. "Ema, a thought just occurred to me. What is that kid, who looks like a Jew, who I am informed the Nazis hate with a passion, doing staying so close to a German soldier who was wearing a swastika on his arm when we found him? The kid was trying to stop Igor from impaling Gavin… Klavier, earlier today. What is going on here?"

Ema shrugged. "You got me."

"Apollo's right. This day's been way too long." Clay rubbed his eyes. "How are we doing on casualties?"

"A few men hurt in the aftermath of the cleanup work. But we haven't sustained serious casualties." Ema said. "At least based on what I've seen on my end. Most of the injuries were minor."

"Well that's going to change if the Germans stop running and dig their heels in to fight back." Clay said. "Give the kid a couple blankets. Let him sleep there tonight. We're not busy, thankfully, so I don't care. And I don't think Apollo's going to care either."

Clay departed back to his tent, and Ema got some blankets for Peter and told him where to come find her if he needed her. Then she departed to her own bed.

(-)

Ema woke up in the middle of the night to find someone shaking her, and speaking in French. "Miss Ema! Miss Ema!" In the dark, it took a moment for her to place that it was Peter. "Miss Ema!"

"What? What is it, Peter?" Ema whispered to him.

"Klavier won't wake up," Peter whispered back.

Ema yawned and stretched and got to her feet. She followed Peter back to the medical tent where Klavier was sleeping. The blond was still unconscious, but his face was covered in a sheen of sweat. _Well, that's not good_ , Ema thought and went to get the thermometer. It showed what she had already expected: his fever had spiked.

Peter was twisting his hands together. "He always woke up, before. Even after the bad man shot him, and he was bleeding, Klavier woke up when I was afraid or needed him."

"What bad man?" Ema asked, and then wished that Clay was there. "Never mind." She would have to find out what Clay was doing tomorrow and make sure that he and Peter sat down to have a discussion. "Listen Peter, Klavier is very sick. That's why he's not waking up."

Peter was still twisting his hands together. "Will he get better?"

"We hope so." Ema said. "I'm going to get the doctor and we'll see what we can do, okay?"

(-)

The story that Clay and Ema pieced together the next day from Peter is one that left them both stunned. By the time they've finished questioning Peter, a process slowed by Clay's periodic pauses to give summaries to Apollo, who only speaks English, and both of their attempts to make sure that the questions they ask don't suggest answers for Peter, he tells them a story that Clay said later to Apollo, "is only topped by the one you told me about how you got your promotion."

The German's name is Klavier Gavin, and Peter met him when his mother was trying, one night, to scavenge food for them. She and her son had missed being sent to a concentration camp when the Nazis came through, but the woman who had been hiding them in her broken-down home was taken away by the Gestapo one day and they had not seen her since.

"Probably means she's dead," Clay muttered, but in English, so only his fellow Americans would understand. Outside the tent the three of them are in, they heard Jake Marshall, another member of Apollo's special unit, shouting at Nichody about something, and Molly, another nurse, singing an Irish ballad as she made her way to the medical tent to check on the wounded.

"Don't say that to Peter," Ema warned.

"Give me some credit here please, Ema," Was all Clay said about it before they started asking questions again.

Peter and his mother had met Klavier Gavin by accident. The German had been on patrol one evening and Peter's mother had run into him.

"What happened when your mother ran into Gavin?" Clay asked.

"He-he told her to show him where we were hiding. And, and, then he brought us food." Peter replied earnestly.

"How long did he do this?" Ema asked.

"I don't know. It was days. But then the soldiers came to the house. Klavier was there but, but he, Momma told me to go with him when the soldiers came, and Klavier took me somewhere else. I waited and waited for Momma but she never came." Peter's lip quivered, and he looked ready to cry.

"What happened next?" Clay asked, trying to stave off any tears.

"Klavier said that we were going to play a game of hide and seek but it had special rules. I had to be somewhere where he could find me but nobody else could." Peter told them. "He told me that Momma wanted me to play the game with him and that it would be our secret. But then the bad man shot him."

"Can you tell us about the bad man?" Ema asked gently.

There was little Peter could tell them, other than the "bad man" was another German soldier who ambushed Gavin one day and shot him. He had been ready to shoot Peter as well, but Klavier, though shot, was not dead, and was able to shoot the "bad man." When Klavier shot him, the bad man died.

"But Klavier was hurt," Peter said, and he looked upset again. "And there wasn't no one to help him."

"How many days were you there after Klavier was shot?" Ema asked.

"Don't know," Peter said, swinging his legs back and forth. The camp stool he was sitting on was too tall for him. "Then the tall man came, and he wanted to kill Klavier with his knife."

"So this would be the part where we come into the story," Clay elaborated for Ema's benefit. "The tall man's gotta be Ivan, who was definitely ready to stab Gavin to death when Apollo interfered."

Clay turned out to be correct. "Then," Peter pointed, generally, at Apollo and Clay, "they brought Klavier here and I came too."

Apart from this, there wasn't a great deal more that Peter could tell them.

Ema headed back to the medical tent when the interview was over, with Peter running on ahead of her, because he refused to be separated from Klavier for too long. Apollo and Clay drifted over to the command tent.

"I don't know what to make of it." Clay said as they walked along.

"I'll be really interested in hearing what Gavin's explanation is." Apollo said thoughtfully.

Inside the command tent, they found Jake Marshall sitting by the radio, feet propped on the desk, chewing a piece of grass and shaving himself with the long, wickedly sharp knife he carried everywhere. His poncho covered his army uniform, and his cowboy hat was set firmly on his head. "Just took a message from HQ, pardners." He volunteered before either of them could ask. "Repeat of yesterday. They've asked us to sit tight and wait for reinforcements to get here. Oh, and the other half of the team's coming."

"Oh, good! I guess Casper didn't die!" Clay said cheerfully. Of the Flying Sidewinders, about half of the group had remained behind when Apollo, Clay, Jake, and Ivan were sent on ahead with a smaller unit to shore up the part of France they were holding now. Part for the reason for the split was that Casper Sly, one of the members of the group, had been shot in the buttocks and needed time to recover from a wound he was firmly convinced he was going to die from.

Jake raised an eyebrow at him. "Dying from that particular wound would have taken some doing. He may have been dying of embarrassment, but that's about the worst he would've got. I saw worse out West before the war."

"So I guess as soon as the others get here, we can move on." Apollo mused. He glanced at the stacks of papers on other administrative detritus in the tent, most of which he hadn't moved. This was to keep things from getting mixed up for the clerk that was supposed to be coming when the reinforcements came. But he would need to find the forms for having Gavin transferred to a prisoner of war camp…

"What's this I hear about a German prisoner we've got?"

"We've got a wounded German prisoner." Apollo replied absently, digging through the closest pile of documents.

"And them's the facts!" Clay added.

Jake gave them both a long look and put his knife away. "Sokolov was telling me about it. It's funny."

"What's funny?" Apollo asked, still trying to locate the right forms. It was impressive, he thought, how many forms the army managed to have.

"You realize we haven't taken a lot of prisoners in our line of work since Sokolov joined us?" Jake asked.

There was a pause as the other two men thought it over.

"It's …probably a coincidence." Clay said after a long moment. He didn't sound very convinced of the fact. "Maybe. I think."

Apollo had stopped looking for the forms and now turned to Jake. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything, Cap'n. Just observing that we used to take enough prisoners before Sokolov, but the longer he's been with us, the fewer we've taken." Jake said, folding his hands across his chest. "This new prisoner's the first in a long while."

Apollo sighed. "Jake, this is a problem I don't need right now." Clay was giving him a pointed look, and he knew his friend was thinking of the fact that Apollo had narrowly prevented Gavin from being killed by Sokolov. "Let me find these forms in peace."

Jake shrugged and went back to shaving. Apollo gave up looking for the forms and left abruptly, and Clay followed him.

(-)

Something was cold on his face. Klavier Gavin tried to pull away, only to find his movements stopped. Fever-glassed blue eyes flickered open and looked up into the face of a young woman with brown hair and green eyes. " _An Angel_ ," he muttered.

She looked down and noticed that he was awake, but she didn't say anything, instead, reaching for the cloth she had been using to blot the sweat from his face. That was where the cold was coming from, and he winced and tried to pull away. " _Nein_. _Halt_. Stop." He managed to catch her wrist, even though his hand was shaking.

"You're actually awake," Ema said. Until now, she had not been able to determine how aware he was of what was going on around him, but this time she knew he was awake.

" _Ja_. Yes." He said quietly. "Where am I?"

"You are at a US Army outpost."

"Ah." That probably meant he was a prisoner. This fact was reinforced a moment later when he tried to move and discovered first, that his left hand was handcuffed to the cot he was lying on, and then that there was an IV in that arm. He looked at these items for a moment, then swallowed and asked, "There was a boy, Peter, a French child…"

"Last time I saw him, he was with Molly, one of the other nurses, and she was taking him to the mess hall to find something to eat." Ema told him.

" _Gut_." Klavier said tiredly. "Who are you?"

"Ema Skye."

"Klavier Pfalzgraf von und zu Gavin."

Ema couldn't be bothered not say what came out of her mouth next. "What a mouthful."

He gave her a tired grin. "Klavier Gavin, if you leave off the rest of the mouthful that makes up my name."

Ema dropped the cloth back into her basin. "Are you hungry?"

" _Nein_ , _danke_ ," he said, then seemed confused. "No, thank you."

She didn't seem pleased by his answer, but she nodded and stood up, taking her basin with her. "Someone will be by to check on you in a little bit." Then she was gone.

Klavier settled back on the cot and rubbed his chin. Then he grimaced. He needed a shave.

He had meant to stay awake until Peter came back. He had been pleased to hear that Peter was off eating. In spite of his best efforts, it had been hard for him to smuggle food in any large amount to the boy, even though he would eat anything Klavier managed to bring.

But he was asleep again only a few minutes later.

2.

"All I'm saying is that all we're doing is patrolling and twiddling our thumbs. The reinforcements have decided to take their old sweet time getting up here, and the Jerrys are not shooting at us at the moment, at least not too much. So I want to hear the story of how this Nazi and that French Jew wound up together," Clay finished.

"And what do you plan to do once you're aware of the story?" Apollo asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Depends on what you want me to do." Clay replied. "But I want to know first."

"You've been sitting here all morning." It was true. Clay had been sitting on a camp stool out in the medial tent most of the morning, waiting for Gavin to wake up. "Want to help me with some paperwork?"

"Are you asking or ordering?"

"I can make it an order," Apollo offered, then both of them stopped. Gavin was awake, and looking at them.

"My time has come!" Clay announced. He then proceeded to speak to Gavin in German.

There was a long pause where Klavier just stared at him. Then the German replied in English, "If you meant to say ' _Sprechen Sie Englisch_ " the answer is yes, I do speak English. But I do not know what you were trying to say."

Clay gave an awkward grin. "Uh, yeah. Um…that is what I was trying to say. Uh… I'm glad you speak English. Who are you?"

"Klavier Pfalzgraf von und zu Gavin."

Clay grinned nervously, but before he could ask for a translation and have to admit that he had no clue what to make of what he had just been told, Apollo asked, "How would we understand your name in English?"

"Klavier Gavin. I…think," Klavier finished tiredly. He hadn't been awake that long, but he was already cold and tired and ready to go back to sleep. "The rest of it does not matter."

"So, your friend Peter told us a strange story that we'd like to hear your side of." Apollo went on.

Klavier was too tired to have this conversation with an American officer. Especially if… "What did Peter say?"

"He said that you helped him and his mother, and then you helped him after his mother was taken away." Apollo replied. "And you ended up shooting one of your comrades in arms who had already shot you and was getting ready to shoot him. That's the short version, anyway."

Klavier winced at the phrase "your comrades." "Comrades is not a word I would use. That implies some kind of friendly affiliation, yes? There was no friendship between Franz von Metz and myself. We did not like each other, and I was not happy the day I learned he had transferred to my division. I was not sorry to have to shoot him."

"So you don't deny what Peter told us is true."

"You have evidence to back up his story, do you not? If you did not, I would not be here. He might be. I may have sent him to you, because that would be sending him to safety. But I would have retreated and made my way back to my side of the war."

The bracelet Apollo wore was the last memory he had of his real family, whoever they had been other than his sister Trucy. In the beginning of his time in the war, he had had to carry it in his pack, or pocket, as it was not part of the official Army uniform. But when he had been put in charge of his own special brigade, doing odd jobs to make the life of the Allies a little easier, he had started wearing it again.

After what he'd been through to get his promotion, he had felt entitled. Now the bracelet felt tight around his wrist, and he knew that Gavin was not being completely honest with them.

He decided to hazard another guess. "You would have retreated, but you didn't want to."

Klavier looked away from them and didn't answer. "What I did or not want was not relevant."

Clay decided to ask a question of his own. "This guy you shot, what happened to him?"

"Von Metz was a faster draw. But I have better aim." Was all Klavier would say about the matter.

The thin threads of an idea were starting to come together in Clay's mind. "You know Gavin, it occurs to me that you are a real lousy Nazi."

"I am insulted by the allegation that I am a Nazi. I am a German soldier, not a Nazi," Klavier said coolly.

Clay wasn't about to let it go. "You fight for the Nazis."

"You fight for the government of your country. Are you going to tell me that you agree with everything they do?" Klavier retorted.

Clay nodded and settled back in his chair, as though he'd found an answer to an unspoken question. "Guess that explains why you, what did you do? You took a bullet for that kid, rather than turn him in, if I understand what I've been told correctly."

Klavier did not look as though he cared very much. "I took a bullet, as you say, because von Metz had been looking for a reason to shoot me for a long time."

"His justification for it was that you were suffering a Jew to live." Clay replied. "And as far as shooting you, he wasn't very good at it."

Klavier gave a derisive snort and looked away. "That is obvious."

"Downright heroic of you, almost." Clay went on, looking extremely interested.

"You make too much out of nothing," Klavier said, turning away from them again. "If it is alright with you, _my captors_ ," He added in German, assured that neither of them could understand what he was saying, "I would like to go back to sleep now."

Apollo and Clay looked at each other, and Apollo shrugged. "Alright," Clay said. "We'll be back later."

When they were outside the tent, Clay started to say something, but Apollo shook his head. The pair walked in silence until they were back in their own tent. Then Clay asked, "What did you think?"

"I don't know what I think yet," Apollo said, sinking down onto his cot. "Why don't you tell me what you think? I can tell from the look on your face that something has occurred to you."

"I think I've found an answer to one of our problems. We need someone who can speak German. I mean, I'm doing my best here, but damn this language is hard. We've got a German here with us now, one who doesn't seem too fond of his own side of the fight. Let's make a deal with him. In exchange for not being sent to a POW camp, he can join us and be our new interpreter."

"I think there's some merit to it." Apollo replied after thinking it over for a moment or two. "There's a couple of things first. The first one that comes to mind is that he's injured, and the second is we don't know how the others will react to him." He meant the remaining members of their group.

"I think, based on past experiences, they'll be happy with whatever we do, because even though this war is apparently going to last forever and a day, it's going to take me at least that long to figure out how to speak German." Clay pointed out, sitting on the other cot and facing his friend and commanding officer. "I miss Stefan all the time."

Apollo had to agree with that. The Frenchman had been killed during a mission a few months earlier, and he had been their primary translator of German as he spoke both German and French. His grasp of English was somewhat limited, but Clay could translate French where needed.

"As far as being injured, well, I think he'd be getting better by now, don't you? But I'll ask Ema about it later. Anything else?" Clay asked.

"No. If I think if some other objection, I'll let you know." Apollo stood up. "I have to go find Marshall and see if he got those radio messages sent. We need the Red Cross to get here and take care of Peter. And then I need to get that paperwork done. Find Ema, or Nichody, and talk to them, and then come find me in the command tent and you can help me do paperwork."

Clay saluted. "Aye aye, sir!"

Apollo shook his head and exited the tent. Clay followed close behind him.

(-)

There was something wet on his face again. Klavier stifled a groan and opened his eyes. The same brown-haired Fraulien from before, her brown hair twisted into a milkmaid's braid wrapped around her head and pinned, was back with her sponge and her water bowl.

 _What now?_ "Nurse…" Her name came back to him a moment later. "Nurse Skye, what are you doing?"

"You are still running a fever, and I am trying to bring that back down."

"Ach…" He put his free hand to his face and grimaced again. He still really needed a shave, but he hadn't realized until now that apparently the Allies had cleaned him up at some point between his falling unconscious in the abandoned home and landing in their camp as a prisoner. That was a relief, at least. "Please stop. I am already cold."

She did stop, but she didn't look happy about it. Ema vanished and reappeared with a thermometer a moment later. Klavier knew what she wanted and offered no resistance as she took his temperature. The look on her face when she saw the reading told him exactly what he already knew. His fever was still high.

Ema started to say something, but she stopped abruptly as Peter came racing back into the room. "Klavier! Klavier! You're awake!"

The little boy jumped up on the cot, and did his best to hug the German, careful of the bandages that encircled the man's waist and the IV and fact that Klavier's other arm was still cuffed to the bed.

"Peter," Klavier returned the embrace with his free arm. "Are you being good?"

The little boy nodded excitedly, then asked, "How come you're not up yet?"

Klavier was spared from having to answer the question when Ema replied, "He's sick, Peter. He can't get up right now."

" _Ja_ ," Klavier agreed quietly.

"Are you going to get better soon?" Peter asked.

"I am going to try." Klavier told him.

Ema set a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Peter, I need you to leave now, okay? Klavier needs to rest, and I have work to do."

Peter didn't look happy about it, but her slid off the bed. Then, staring at Ema the whole time, he slid underneath it.

She watched him and shook her head. Then she told Klavier in a low tone, "Terran and Justice are supposed to be getting the Red Cross here to take care of Peter."

Ema hadn't been sure how he would take it, but he looked relieved. "Good. That is good. Maybe they can find whatever is left of his family."

"Does he have any left?"

"He may. But I don't know anything beyond vague details about where they are."

Klavier was silent after that, and in a few moments he appeared to be asleep. Ema finished up what she was doing, made the notations that she needed too on Klavier's chart, and left.

(-)

Ema came around the corner to the front of Nichody's tent and found herself face to face with Clay Terran. "Hi Ema."

"Hi Clay."

"Looking for the Doc? I was just looking for him too." Clay told her.

They heard singing a moment later. "…Girt around with cruel foes, still their courage proudly rose, for they thought of hearts that loved them far and near; of the millions true and brave o'er the ocean's swelling wave, and the friends in holy Ireland ever dear."

"Molly!" Clay exclaimed, and he and Ema hurried off.

The auburn haired Irish-American nurse was walking between two of the tents nearby, carrying a pile of clean sheets. She paused when she saw Clay and her senior officer coming towards them. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Where's Dr. Nichody?" Ema asked.

"He got a pass to leave for the day, so I think he went to town," Molly reported.

"What's in town that he wanted to see?" Clay asked. The nearby town had taken a thorough beating in the war, and there wasn't much that was standing. There was even less if one was looking to buy items like soap or ink.

"I could not tell you." Molly replied. "What is it?"

"We need to ask him about a patient."

"Oh, well, he's supposed to be back later this evening. I think I heard that he only got a 24 hour pass." Molly knew most of the gossip in the camp.

"Alright. We'll try to catch him when he gets back, then,"Clay told her.

Molly nodded and went on her way. Clay and Ema looked at each other. "What did you need Nichody for?" Clay asked.

Ema frowned. "I wanted to find out about a patient. And he's not going to like what I have to ask him."

"Which patient? Gavin? I was going to ask you about him. How's he recovering?"

"He's not. That's why I wanted to talk to Dr Nichody. I wonder if he missed something during surgery. Maybe when he was cleaning the infection out he didn't get everything."

Clay thought it over. "How is Gavin?"

"Still running a fever. It goes up and down, but it won't go away, and we're going through the antibiotics on him," Ema told him. "And the doctor will not be happy when I tell him what I think."

"Do you think he's trying to die? Does he seem suicidal to you at all?"

Ema considered the question for a long moment before she answered. "No. I think if he was, he would have taken that IV out by now. That's how we're keeping him fed and giving him antibiotics. But he hasn't messed with it, and he doesn't really resist treatment." Other than sponge baths, which Klavier seems to detest.

"Good to know. I'll talk to Nichody as soon as he gets back. I want Gavin back on his feet," Clay said, turning away, but Ema was curious and not about to let him go with that answer.

"Why does it matter? Is he going to a POW camp?" She asked.

Clay paused. "Uh, maybe. Depends on some further discussions that Apollo and I will have with him."

Ema started to say something else, but then had to stop. Jake Marshall was walking towards them. "Pardon me, Bambina," he said, nodding in Ema's direction. "I hate to interrupt you two, but I've got a gentleman from the Red Cross here in the command tent. Says he's responding to my radio call about a kid who needed help."

Clay nodded. "I'll go meet him. Marshall, will you find Justice and let him know?"

Marshall gave a short nod. "Sure will."

He walked on by, and Clay and Ema turned and headed to the command tent.

(-)

After Apollo has joined them, Clay and Ema, together with the Red Cross Representative, headed for the medical tent. It isn't meal time, so this is the place that Peter is most likely to be.

Sure enough the little boy was on Gavin's bed, curled up under the German's left arm, carefully, in light of the IV and handcuffs. He sat up when he saw the group come in, and his action roused Klavier back to a semblance of awareness.

Clay spoke first, in French. "Peter, this is Marc Rigel. He's with the Red Cross and you're going to leave with him today, alright? He's going to help you find your family."

"How?" Peter wanted to know. "Mama's gone."

Klavier spoke up. "The Red Cross helps find people who've gone missing, Peter. They'll be able to help you, too."

"Really?" Peter asked, his brown eyes going wide.

" _Ja_." Klavier slipped back into German by mistake, but Peter knew enough German to understand that word.

The little boy sat up on his knees on the bed and looked at the German earnestly. "You're coming too, right?"

"No Peter," Klavier told him. "I am not coming with you. This time you have to go without me."

Peter looked devastated at this news. "But I want you to come with me." He looked at Klavier's left hand and the restraint there, then back at the German. With an astuteness that shocked them all, he said, "It's because you're a prisoner, isn't it?"

Klavier struggled to put his feverish thoughts in order to come up with an answer that would satisfy Peter, but before he could say anything, Ema leaned forward and looked at the boy. "Peter, Klavier is sick. He can't go with you. He has to stay here and get better."

Peter considered this information for a moment, then nodded solemnly. He turned and threw himself on Klavier, hugging the man as tightly as possible. Klavier wrapped his free arm around Peter and hugged him as best as he could. "Be good, Peter," He whispered to the boy. Peter nodded, and slid off the bed, going to stand by the Red Cross man.

" _Sprechen Sie Englisch_?" Klavier asked Rigel. The man nodded, and Klavier switched to English, as he knew that Peter knew even less English than he did German. "Peter's mother was taken away not all that long ago. If she isn't dead, she may be in a concentration camp, but I don't know where she was taken. His father and grandfather you may be have better luck finding; his grandfather went to join the French Resistance and his father may be in a prisoner of war camp, as he was part of the French Army in the early campaigns of the war."

"We will look into it," Rigel promised. He left a few minutes later, taking Peter with him. Apollo had turned to leave, but Clay caught him and pulled him back. Then he turned to Klavier. The French conversation had been the last information that he had needed to hear.

"How would you like to avoid being shipped to a prisoner of war camp in mainland America?"

Klavier raised an eyebrow. " _Was_?" He hadn't noticed that he was still speaking German.

Apollo stepped forward. "We could use someone in my…my unit, who can speak German. In exchange for your help, you could stay out of a prisoner of war camp."

"It wouldn't be conscription." Clay added. "You would be signed up in the US Army, and draw pay and everything. Basically, we're asking you to switch sides."

Klavier considered it. Then he shook his head. "I would prefer being sent to a prisoner of war camp." He was speaking English again.

Clay looked floored at that news. It was unbelievable to him that Klavier would turn down the offer. "What? Why? You can't convince me for two minutes it's because you're such a loyal German and want to keep serving a Reich whose laws you just finished flaunting."

For a long time, Klavier said nothing. Then he spoke. "My brother is being held prisoner, and his safety depends on my doing what I am told. I have no control over whether or not I, as a prisoner, am sent to a prisoner of war camp. But if I switch sides and it's discovered that I did so, the Nazis will take their anger out on my brother."

Ema, who had found reason to be loitering nearby, gasped. Apollo tried to look stoic at the news but he wasn't entirely successful at it. Clay looked grim. "Where's your brother being held?"

"It's called Castle Brocken. It's where the Nazis are holding some political prisoners. They sent me to the Western front and him there." Klavier replied.

"Where is Castle Brocken?" Apollo asked suddenly.

Klavier shook his head. "I…" He sighed and put a hand to his head. "It's on the other side of the border, in Germany. I can't remember where, without a map." He was tired. And cold. He was always tired and cold these days.

"If we could protect you, and keep anyone from finding out you're helping us, would you do it?" Apollo asked.

"If you could do that, I would consider helping you." Klavier replied.

Clay looked Apollo. Apollo looked at Clay. Clay looked at Klavier and nodded. "Alright, we'll make it work."

They left the tent a few minutes later, Ema in tow. She looked pale and upset.

"Don't go back there," Apollo warned, but he could see by the look on her face that it was too late, and she was thinking about her sister being blackmailed to protect her.

"These Nazis are such lovely folk," Clay said dryly, putting his hands on his hips. "Well, time to see what we can do about getting Gavin enlisted in our side of the war. And get Nichody on figuring out why Gavin isn't back on his feet yet."

3.

As Ema had predicted, Dr. Nichody nearly had a fit when Clay was finally able to corner him and ask why Gavin was still sick. There was a substantial bit of bickering, which finally attracted Apollo's attention over to Nichody's tent. The officer had intervened by ordering Nichody to find out why Gavin was still sick and if that meant another operation, so be it.

Nichody had griped, complained, and generally raised a fuss until he reviewed Gavin's chart. Then he called for another surgery.

It was while Gavin was in surgery that Clay finally got around to looking at the small book that was in Gavin's possession when he was brought into camp. It was made of brown leather, sized to fit in a pocket and wrapped up in a piece of oilcloth. A leather cord wrapped around it and attached to the book kept it shut. A pencil stub had been tucked in this cord to keep it with the book. He opened the book up and was surprised to find that part of what was inside was written in French.

"Golly Gee," he muttered. He was sitting in the medical tent, against one of the support poles and waiting for the outcome of the second surgery when he had decided to start reading. "I should have looked at this first. It would have saved me some time."

The very first page is written on in German and French. The name and addresses appear to be duplicated; written once in each language.

 _If discovered please return to Kristoph Gavin._

There was an address in Munich, and another that named "Castle Brocken" as a location the book should be returned to.

"Must be the brother." Clay decided, wetting his fingers in his mouth and flipping through the book.

Some of the first pages were written in German, and appear to be coded with initials throughout. All of these Clay skipped. Some pages are just filled with odd circles and letters and Clay couldn't make out what those are supposed to be either.

He was looking at them, trying to determine if they were a new German code, when he felt someone's presence behind him and turned to see Molly with a stack of clean sheets, looking over his shoulder. "Your work?" she asked, nodding at the book.

"Nope. No idea what it is." He replied, turning his attention back to the book.

"I think it's music," She said, and Clay turned back to her again.

"What?"

"Music," She repeated, and started to hum under her breath. Clay listened carefully until she stopped.

"What you were just humming is this," he asked, indicating the symbols on the page of the book.

"Yes," Molly nodded. "I don't know what key it's supposed to be in, though. Maybe G?" She asked, noting the tiny letter, that Clay had thought was a key for how to start decoding the message, in the top corner of the page. The opposite page had similar notations on it, but an "A" in the top corner.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Clay muttered, looking back at the book. Molly drifted off to finish her work, and Clay went back to reading.

The notations in French were enlightening. The dates are staggered, with the earliest dating from 1940.

 _Dear Kristoph,_

 _If I told you what I thought about this war, I'd be executed._

 _So I won't say it. I think you can guess._

 _K._

 _Dear Kristoph,_

 _If only the High Command wasn't insane. We'd be further along._

 _K._

Some entries weren't even finished at all.

 _Dear Kristoph,_

…

 _Dear Kris_

…

 _Kristoph,_

 _I wish that_

Then it was notations in German, for pages, and more music.

 _Dear Kris,_

 _Cold. Wet. Guess who gets to climb trees and go scouting for targets?_

 _Rain is nice when you know you can get out of it. It's not as much fun if you can't._

 _K._

Clay snorted at that one and shook his head. Some things never change, no matter whose side of the war one was on.

 _Kristoph,_

 _I guess I'd appreciate this war more if I believed in what Germany is fighting for._

 _I really have no idea what Germany is fighting for._

 _If it's land, I don't think Germany needs it._

 _K._

Most of the entries are short. Very few are of any substance, but some are.

 _Dear Kristoph,_

 _In case I get shot, I know it's risky writing this and I don't think you'll ever see it even if I do end up getting shot. But I have to do something, or I'll go mad. I have to say what I think, somehow._ _Don't worry, any more than you are, anyway. I make sure no one can see me write in this and so far I believe no one in my unit knows I have it._

 _I wish that we would face facts. Now that America has joined the war, there's no way we can win this. How can we bomb a country on the other side of the ocean? Our C.O. let it slip that America makes new ships and planes at an amazing rate, turning out ships so quickly the U-boats can't keep up._

 _We're not allowed to be honest about anything that might "demoralizing." Schmidt was executed the other day for getting drunk and predicting disaster in Russia. So it's "demoralizing" to be honest about how the war is going to end._

 _I'm hoping that I can come see if you my request for leave ever gets approved. I've been waiting for months now. At least I have something to look forward too; every morning I get to find out whether or not my requested leave will be granted. It adds excitement to the general routine of trying to not get shot by irritated soldiers of the countries we keep invading. They get to defend their homelands. I get to be the invader._

 _K._

The next page is a doodle in pencil of some kind of family crest. The only symbols that Clay can make heads or tails of are a kind of bird looming over a stylized "G". There are more pages of writing in German, and music. Clay read as much as he could, and when he was finished, he closed the book and looked back up at the cloth ceiling overhead.

"You make a real lousy Nazi, Gavin. I think you'll do great on our side of the war."

(-)

Nichody was forced to admit, after the end of the second surgery, that he had missed something in the first surgery, and the few threads of torn clothing that he had missed were what had given the infection a way to hold on.

Clay was sitting by the German's cot the next morning, wondering if and when the other man would wake up, and flipping through Gavin's tiny book, looking at the music and entries that he could read, when Apollo walked in. "I'm flying back to London. I think we can make arrangements, some kind of cover identity for Gavin. I'm also planning to meet up with the rest of the brigade and bring them back with me."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Clay replied. "I'll keep an eye on our new recruit!" Even though Gavin hasn't officially agreed to join them yet, Clay is confident that he will.

Apollo looked at Gavin, who was still handcuffed to the bed. "I doubt he's going anywhere. Not without our knowledge, anyway. Keep the place running while I'm gone?"

"Always," Clay took his duties as second in command of the Flying Sidewinders very seriously. "Fair winds and smooth sailing."

"Great thing for a guy from the USAAF to say. You'd think you were in the Navy before the Sidewinders," Apollo said, but he was grinning. His grin faded and he looked reluctant. Clay was the prop that held him up and he didn't like leaving his best friend and emotional support behind, even if it was for something as simple as a trip to London. He clapped his best friend on the shoulder, then vanished back out the door of the tent.

When it became clear after awhile that Gavin wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, Clay drifted away to deal with the paperwork and other assorted problems that were left behind and fell to him now that Apollo is gone.

Later that afternoon, Ema dropped by the command tent to let him know that Gavin was awake, and eating for the first time since he was brought to camp. His fever has broken as well.

"Good," Clay said when he heard the news. He was sitting at the desk in the tent, opposite the table that held the radio equipment, and was midway through a stack of documents that he was finishing and busily forging Apollo's signature on. As the captain's consigliore, the Flying Sidewinders treat his word as Apollo's word, and Clay had an unlimited right to sign Apollo's name to anything. "When Apollo gets back, we'll have the new ID all ready for Gavin, and we'll have a translator for the Sidewinders, too."

(-)

Gavin has had another visitor during his time in the medical tent, though no one knows it yet.

Corporal Igor Sokolov has made it a point to know exactly what Gavin's prognosis was at any time. Ever since the German was bought back to the camp, it has been clear to Sokolov that the German has not been recovering and at the rate he's going, will eventually succumb to his injuries.

He feels nothing over this, neither pity nor sympathy. In his mind, this is nothing more than what the German deserved.

But now there has been a change, and Nichody has performed a second surgery. This in itself did not cause Sokolov any concern when he heard the news. Many people have died on the operating table before, and Gavin wasn't well before he went into surgery. This might be the last straw that it takes to push to the German into the afterlife.

To Sokolov's disappointment, admitted only to himself when he heard an update later on, Gavin survived the second surgery.

This news was worsened in his mind the next day when he learned from Nichody that the German was awake and eating, something he hadn't done since he was brought into the camp. Prior to this, the only nutrition the German took in was from the IV in his arm.

Then Sokolov knew that Gavin would live.

But he also knew that there was still time to act.

Sokolov knew the routine of the nurses in the evening, having watched them come and go for the last couple of days. More soldiers have been joining the unit today, together with their leaders and it's only a matter of time before some officer who outranks Lt. Terran comes in and relieves Terran, and by extension Captain Justice, of duty. The unit will move forward soon, back into the fight, and the Flying Sidewinders will move on to whatever next mission the Allied command sees fit to give them. So if he does anything, it will have to be tonight.

Sokolov entered the medical tent silently. No battles had taken in the last week, so that meant that there were no casualties and no injuries yet, other than minor injuries that arose in the course of normal non-combat work for the soldiers. There is still only one patient in the medical tent.

This is better than Sokolov can ever hope for. There are no witnesses.

He entered the tent silently. Igor can see, when he got closer to the cot that Gavin was in, that the man is now recovering, and will be back on his feet in no time.

He took a seat on the cot next to Gavin's and after a moment's consideration, reached over and shook the German awake.

The German came awake quickly and gave him a curious look. "I do not believe we have been introduced," He said in clear, though accented, English.

Sokolov couldn't speak German and he had no plans to ever learn how. He suspected that the German couldn't understand or speak Russian. So English it is. "You must be comfortable here."

"Comfortable enough, I suppose," Gavin replied cautiously. There was something in the other man's demeanor that he did not like, and he was starting to wish that his left wrist was not still handcuffed to the bed, or that he had his sidearm, but the Americans had taken that away when they'd taken him prisoner.

"How amusing. In German prisoners of war camps, it's not so comfortable for us Russians, you see."

"You might get the opportunity to complain about that to the Storm Troopers," Gavin replied carefully. "But I am not a Storm Trooper and have never been in charge of any prisoners of war."

"No. No, I believe that. You simply take them, and shoot those who resist." Sokolov said with an unpleasant smile. "You are a Boche. And the Americans may let you live, but I am not as forgiving as they are. When Russia has done to Germany what Germany did to them, then I will rest, but not until then." He set a hand on the pillow that was lying on the cot he was sitting on, and then picked it up and set it on his lap. He fluffed it for a moment, then lunged forward and clamped the pillow over Gavin's face.

Panic set in almost immediately but Klavier tried to keep it at bay. If he panicked, he couldn't think clearly. He swung his free hand into a fist and aimed it in the general direction of where Sokolov had been when he had decided to smother him. He felt his arm get caught and twisted, and the pressure on the pillow over his face increased.

Growing more desperate, he curled his legs up to his chest. The action tore at the stitches in his side, but he didn't notice it at the time. He kicked out as hard as possible, and this time he felt impact.

The pressure on his face was relieved, and then a moment later the whole cot went over.

The IV bottle on the stand by the bed shattered on impact as Klavier hit the ground. But his crash to the ground had made it impossible for Sokolov to continue to smother him. Klavier shoved the cot off of himself and wished again that his hand was not cuffed to it. His elbow ached and spots of blood colored the ground where the IV in his vein had been stressed. He hadn't noticed yet, but he was bleeding from his where the stitches in his side had totally been torn out. He was breathing hard, and when he saw the Russian approach again, he ducked his head down, keeping his free arm in front of his head on the ground.

Sokolov was furious. What should have been a simple smothering had quickly gone awry and now there was no way for the German's death to be written off as a death as result of complication from surgery, or something else that the Allies wouldn't investigate too carefully in the middle of a war.

He would never let himself be accused of a crime by a Boche. Now the German would have to die. In a near frenzy, he looked around for another method of dealing with the Boche, and hit upon a new idea. He got to his feet and stepped on the German's left wrist, the one that was still handcuffed. This caused the handcuff to dig into the skin and start drawing blood, but this was a bonus. What Sokolov wanted was what happened next: the German lifted his head off the ground.

" _Nein_! _Nein_!" Klavier tried to shove the Russian off of his wrist with his free hand, but after his extended convalescence he didn't have the strength to budge the heavier man so much as a centimeter. In trying to do so, he had lifted his head and turned to see what was causing him pain now, and then moved his arm to try and shove the other man off of his wrist. That was what Sokolov wanted.

Sokolov yanked the IV tubing out of the German's arm and disconnected it from the shattered remnants of the bottle in one swift motion. He quickly folded it in half before he wrapped it around the German's throat and pulled his improvised garrote together as tightly as possible.

And that was when Klavier realized that he had made a big mistake.

4.

"Talk about a whirlwind trip. I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow morning at the earliest," Clay said, looking up from the paperback book he was reading when the tent flap was swung aside and Apollo let himself in. "Did you bring the rest of the Sidewinders back with you?"

"Yes, I did. And I talked to General Debron while I was there," Apollo stripped off his uniform jacket and dropped it onto his cot. "He's more than okay with us converting a German National to our side. And I mentioned Castle Brocken to him. He didn't say anything outright, but he said enough that I gathered that we won't hurt his feelings if we storm the castle if we happen to be in that part of Germany."

Clay nodded. "Sounds good."

"I got," Apollo held up a packet. "Documents and new dog tags for Gavin, if he'll take them, and I talked to Miss von Karma who happened to be back in London while I was there." Apollo only knew Franziska von Karma through his sister's godfather, Miles Edgeworth. Sometimes, even now, Apollo struggled with the fact that he had a family waiting for him back in America. _They couldn't send me over here to be target practice for Germans while I didn't think I had a family. Now I have to get shot at and just keep hoping that I make it home to my sister, and I almost already haven't once._ "She said that Brocken isn't the only castle that the Nazis have been using to hold prisoners. There's at least one more that she's heard of. Apparently, those are places where the Nazis put prisoners that are too important to let go, but equally too important to put into the prison camps."

Clay dog-eared the page of the book that he was on and set it to the side. "Alright. Let's go finish recruiting Gavin."

The walk across the camp was brief, but when the two men entered the medical tent, he scene that greeted them took a moment to comprehend.

Gavin was on the floor, the cot that he had been on upside down next to him. Sokolov was standing over the prone German, pulling on some kind of cord that was wrapped around Gavin's neck.

Clay reacted first. He charged forward, shoving the Russian away from Gavin. The attack took place faster than Sokolov could react to it, and he wasn't able to maintain his grip on his improvised garrote.

Apollo had raced into the tent as well, but rather than follow Clay to deal with Sokolov, he stopped to check on Gavin. The German was pale and still, lips tinged blue from lack of oxygen. Apollo pulled the garrotte away and then hesitated, unsure of what to do, and wished that Northwood, the Sidewinder's radio man/medic, was there, or Dr. Nichody. He laid a hand on Gavin's chest and discovered a heartbeat, and then he hit the other man between the shoulder blades as hard as he could, hoping that the action would be enough to start the other man's lungs.

It was. Gavin exhaled in a sudden rush, and on taking his next breath, started to cough. Apollo took the key to the handcuffs from his pocket and released the German's bloody wrist from the restraint. Amidst Gavin's fits of coughing, Apollo managed to get him on his back. He yanked the pillowcase off a pillow lying nearby, and used that to try to stem the other man's bleeding wrist. It was awkward, as the IV catheter was still in Gavin's arm and Apollo didn't feel bold enough to pull it out. It needed to come out, he suspected, based on the bleeding around it.

Clay reappeared a moment later, and Apollo was filled with a relief he couldn't name. "Sokolov's days in the Sidewinders are over." He announced grimly. Nothing he said was a surprise to Apollo. Clay looked around and came back with a sheet that he used to try and stop the bleeding side wound.

Ema appeared a moment later. "What happened? I heard a racket…" She trailed off as she took in the scene.

"Someone thought that the Geneva Convention was an option, not a rule," Jake Marshall said behind her, and she gave him a confused glance, attention flicking behind her to Jake and then back to the scene in front of her. Jake re-holstered his side-arm. He too had heard the racket, and he hadn't been about to burst in without any weapons and he certainly wasn't going to let Ema come in without backup. "Get Dr. Nichody, please, _Bambina_."

Ema gave a short nod and darted away. Jake looked at his two commanding officers, then saw Sokolov nearby, fuming. "I'll escort the…perpetrator …out," He said, keeping one hand firmly on his sidearm.

Gavin had not said a word, though his coughing had begun to ease.

Clay and Apollo exchanged a long look, the same question exchanged between them: _now_ _what_?

(-)

"I have just been given a lecture that my rank should protect me from having to take from a doctor who was not happy about having to repeat a surgery for the third time," Apollo announced as he entered the tent he shared with Clay. He saw the third cot set up there and did a double take. "Someone else moving in?"

"Yep. Soon as he's out of surgery, I'm having Gavin moved in here," Clay replied.

"This feels like overkill somehow," Apollo told him.

"Are you sure?" Clay asked. Apollo had to pause to consider it. The dark-haired man went on. "So where's the rest of the Sidewinders? I hear a Major just came into camp so I think your time in charge has ended."

"They're getting set up in their tents, I think. I have a new objective from the General to present to them. You want to talk to them about Gavin?"

"I was thinking we would both go talk to them."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"And then I will talk to Gavin as soon as he awakens from surgery," Clay promised as he got to his feet and the pair headed for the tent door.

(-)

When Klavier woke up, he wasn't sure where he was, but he was sure it wasn't the medical tent. His throat was sore, and he was surprised when he shifted and discovered that he was not handcuffed to anything. He lifted his left wrist and inspected it carefully. It was bandaged, and then what had happened to him in the medical tent came back to him. There was no IV in either arm this time. He set his hand down and glanced around the tent. It was grey inside, so it must be evening. The black-haired man from before – Clay Terran, his mind placed after a moment – was sitting on one of the other beds, reading a paperback.

"Where am I?" Klavier whispered in English.

"Still in camp," Clay said, looking up from his book and dog-earing the page he was working on. "Just, not in the medical tent anymore. We, uh, moved you out of there." He closed the book and set it aside. "Igor Sokolov has been sent back to London to be dealt with. We didn't know he intended to do what he did."

Klavier gave a half-nod. In the dim light, it was hard to see.

"We'd still like you to join us, if you're willing. We have a new identity for you, and we're willing to go storm a Nazi castle, if you're willing to go with us," Clay offered.

Klavier considered it, but not for too long. "I will join you," He agreed. His voice was low and hoarse. "But there's something else I want."

"What is it?"

"I want arrangements to be made so that my brother and I can move to America after the war is over."

"Sounds reasonable. We'll get it taken care of," Clay promised.

"Then I will join you."

Clay's grin seemed to illuminate the tent. "Welcome to the Flying Sidewinders. It'll be good to have someone with us who can speak German."

Klavier was curious. "Why do you need someone who can speak German so badly?"

Clay's grin dimmed a little. "Oh, well, if you stick around long enough, you'll find out. Believe me, you'll find out. I'm never gonna be allowed to live it down."

* * *

 **[A/N:]** This story was supposed to be short, and it ended up being 12,000+ words. But it is a CD spinoff, so who am I kidding?

Alright. What do I need to note? I am still not exactly sure how Army Ranks work so I have played fast a loose with those in here. This is a little bit closer in spirit to Hogan's Heroes with Apollo's special brigade. For example, we Jake Marshall carrying a sidearm. He would probably not have been allowed to do that in the American Army. Klavier has a sidearm too but I don't know what the rules were in the Wehrmacht as far as sidearms (if it helps, in this AU Klavier is an officer in the Heer. That's the Army part of the German Armed Forces, at least in the WWII period.) Peter is the same Peter who we met in the first chapter in CD. " _Enfant_ " and "Kind" both mean child. Igor is using French and Clay is trying out German.

What else? Northwood, who Apollo briefly refers towards the end, and Molly are OCs. The Germans and Russians and how they treated each in WWII is a discussion I'm not even going to wade into. But Igor is working for the American Army, and America did hold to the Geneva Convention during the war, and killing prisoners is not allowed under the Convention. Klavier uses the term "Storm Troopers" in his conversation. "Storm Troopers" is a term that Germans used to refer to the SS during the Third Reich, according to Berlin Embassy by William Russell, which was a fascinating read.

Clay's paperbook is significant only because he's reading an Armed Services Edition. These books were, according to NPR, printed on paper about the quality of newspaper paper and were designed to fit in a pocket. Some books were classics, like "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" and others were trashy but they gave soldiers something to do during the War. About 122 million books were distributed during the war. Being made of such thin paper, they tended to not last through too many readings. Oh, and dog-earing books - folding down the corner of a page so that you know where you left off - is bad for them. Don't dog ear books.

I do think that's everything. I may or may not continue this later on. I make no promises. If you have any questions, as always, please PM me and please review.


	16. From Dusk to Dawn, Part II

**Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia**

* * *

 **Summary** : France, 1944. "The rat-faced Millice man who had arrested Apollo and the others was busily working on paperwork, when the door slammed open and there came a shout of "Achtung!" Then Klavier and Clay entered the room."

* * *

 **From Dusk to Dawn**

 **Part II**

 _One Year Earlier_

The Shores of England

It was a grey day. There had been no rain, but there had been no sunshine, either.

The waves of the Atlantic Ocean roared onto the shore and then retreated. On a bench near the sea, Apollo Justice sat and stared at the water. His left arm was in a sling to let a fractured collarbone heal, and a still-healing bullet wound in his left bicep was hidden under his sleeve.

The sounds of someone's footsteps did not rouse him, and Apollo did not pull his attention from the water until he heard a familiar voice. "I was told I would find you here." At the sound, he looked up and saw a friend standing there.

"Clay!"

"I'm glad to see you, Apollo." Clay took a seat next to Apollo on the bench. For awhile, the two of them sat there in silence. Then Clay went on. "They told me that you're a hero now. Got a big promotion, gonna lead your own specialized unit." He turned and grinned at Apollo, but the grin died when he saw the look on his friend's face.

"Clay…Clay, can I tell you what happened? In France? While I was there? In the forest at Tagiturn?" The words all rushed out at once, before Apollo could stop them.

"Of course you can," Clay replied gently.

Apollo didn't notice. "They told me I shouldn't tell anyone what had happened. It wasn't safe. It wouldn't be safe. But I have to. I have to," His voice dropped to a whisper. "It's driving me insane."

So Clay listened without interrupting as Apollo told him the circumstances to that had led to his injuries, the unit he had been working with being decimated in German-occupied France, his promotion.

"I don't know who the man was who saved me is, Clay," Apollo finished, his voice low. "When I was debriefed, they told me not to tell anyone what had happened. They said it was bad for propaganda, because you can't portray Germans as Huns and mass-murderers when one of them behaves like a decent human being." His voice dropped again. "They said that if I talk about it and a spy overhears and takes the news back to the mainland, there's no telling what the Gestapo will do to that man, if they can find him."

"Well, the General is probably right about that," Clay said after taking a moment to digest the new information. "If word gets out and back to Germany about this, your rescuer will end up in a world of trouble for it."

"What am I supposed to do, Clay? Every time I go to battle now, I'll be wondering if I'm shooting at the man who saved me."

"Don't think that way," Clay warned him. "You can't extrapolate one good man to cover a whole nation. This is a war and we have to win it. Nowhere on earth will be safe if we don't. And don't forget that the men who destroyed the rest of your unit were Germans, too."

Now it was Apollo who was quiet. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right. I don't know what to think anymore."

They sat there for a long time, just watching the waves roll onto the shore.

 _German-Occupied France_

 _1944_

"Alright Gavin. This is our third mission together. We like you. We've decided to keep you, and now we're gonna tell you a story," Casper Sly, a short American soldier with brown hair and brown eyes, announced. He was the shortest member of the group, even shorter than Apollo. The light from the small fire danced around the group as they sat in the twilight. The sun had set, but there was still some light left on the horizon.

Klavier paused, a tin cup of coffee halfway to his mouth. "Do you welcome all newcomers like this?"

"We like to wait," Ackbey Hicks, a tall Borginian-American with dark blue eyes framed by glasses and dark blond hair, spoke up, "Until the first couple of missions are out of the way. Then we know who will stay."

Sly nodded. "Yep. We've gone through a few members now. Thornton left after one mission. Said we were nuts. Which was true, but he knew what we did when he signed up. Who else?

"That creepy Russian guy who we lost when we got Gavin." Michael Northwood, a green-eyed, black-haired British man, who was already wrapped up in his bedroll with his pack under his head for a pillow, spoke up. "I don't know who got the worst of that bargain, to be honest."

"Yeah, Sokolov, he got…" Casper paused and turned to Jake Marshall. "What did he get?"

"No idea," Marshal replied as he took his cigarette out of his mouth and blew a smoke ring. "Court-martialed, I hope. We got rid of him and left him for the higher-ups to deal with. Before him was Skuil."

"I had been doing my best to forget him," Sly admitted. "But I think he was a traitor, wasn't he? That's what Stefan said."

"It is indeed." Marshall confirmed. "And he was the one who sold us out and got Stefan killed."

"I remember now," Sly said grimly. He turned back to Gavin, who was sitting by the fire and trying to drink his coffee. "There's been others. Anyway, we're going to tell you a story, and it's an important one. Pay attention. There'll be a quiz at the end. We are going to tell you the story of the man who started the Sidewinders. But you have to swear to never tell anyone. We're not supposed to know, but Lt. Terran told us."

Klavier raised an eyebrow. "You are not supposed to know, but Lt. Terran told you?"

"We needed to know," Marshall spoke up. Klavier turned to face him. "And we'll telling you because you need to know, too. Captain Justice has battle fatigue. But instead of being sent back to London or somewhere where he could get out of the war, he got sent back to the front lines."

Sly picked up the story. "Captain Justice used to be part of a group that infiltrated behind enemy lines. Before the Sidewinders, I mean. The unit that he was with was sent to extract, not a codebook, but some documents that the Allies could use to break German codes. That unit tangled with the SS while trying to get out of Germany, out of occupied France, and back to England. Every time they tangled with the SS, the Germans chewed up the unit and spit it back out. But all the tattered remnants of the group kept moving towards the coast."

Jake took the butt of his cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it in the fire. "The third time the unit tangled with the Germans, only Justice and one other man survived it. But the Germans knew that something had been stolen from them and they were desperate to get it back and so they had sent out more soldiers to follow the SS and help them."

Klavier was listening intently, but he said nothing.

"Justice and another man, Tobias Elan, were the last two standing after the third round of the SS," Marshall went on. "And they were doing their best to get back when they were attacked again. Only Justice survived. Being the last member of his unit left alive, he still kept pressing on back to the other side of the war when he got ambushed by one German soldier. He had expected to get shot, especially when he went to shoot the German and his pistol turned out to be empty. But this German soldier told Justice how to get to safety and let him go."

"The whole experience left the captain pretty rocked by it and he's had battle fatigue ever since," Hicks finished. "But instead of putting him behind a desk somewhere, they decided he was doing so good at his line of work that he needed to select his own unit and go back out into the field. That's how the Sidewinders got started. And that's why if the Captain's behavior ever seems a little erratic to you, it may be. He's got a bad enough case of Battle Fatigue."

"The Lieutenant keeps Captain Justice sane, though, and that's why you can always count on the fact that he speaks for the Captain when he's giving orders," Northwood added. "It's nice, actually. You don't have to worry about getting contradictory orders."

"And if we don't have a good feeling about the orders we get, we can tell the Lieutenant and he'll take it up with the Captain. It may not change anything, but we do get to have a say thanks to him," Sly added. "Anyway, you are sworn to secrecy now. Never tell anyone. We're not trying to get that German, whoever he was, into trouble."

"You need not worry. I will not repeat the story," Klavier promised quietly. He set his empty cup down.

"Are they still talking?" Hicks asked.

Sly turned around the looked over the slope. In the distance, Apollo and Clay were framed by the dying light, and appeared to be talking vigorously. "Yep. They are still out there talking. Wonder what we're up against now."

"Guess we'll find out." Marshall said, rolling out his bedroll and setting his hat on top of his pack.

"They're gonna run out of light at the rate they're going to translate that note. Northwood?"

"Hm?" The Brit replied.

"Did you get a chance to translate that message before the Captain took it?"

"No," The other man replied.

"So if that is the Captain's story, then what is the story from the rest of you?" Klavier asked, looking around at the other members of the group.

Sly looked at Marshall. "Age before beauty?"

"Why don't you go chase yourself?" Marshall suggested.

"Just tell us the story! It's too dark to read," Sly retorted. "We got nothing else to do, so bring Gavin up to speed."

"Fine. I lived out in Montana before the war. I was a town marshal out there. And I was trying to run a ranch."

"Trying?" Gavin asked.

"It wasn't going so good," Marshall admitted.

"He's not telling you the whole story," Sly interrupted. "This guy here sneaked himself into the first war. Lied about his age and got in."

"I lied about my age and joined the first World War because I decided that I wanted to buy a ranch out west and I had been doing odd jobs to save up the money for it and there was lots of recruitment going on. The easiest job to get was that of a soldier. And anyway, Sly, I was sixteen when I joined, so it weren't that young."

Sly turned to Gavin. "As you're a German, let me tell you that in America, the age of enlistment is eighteen."

"You done providin' commentary over there?"

"Of course. Carry on." Sly turned his attention back to Marshall.

"The war ended a year later and I came home. I'd saved up all my money and went back out west and went to work. I had wanted to pay cash for a ranch and I knew a man with a good one who wanted to sell out and go back East. Of course, I had to pay living expenses and rent during the whole time, so it was easier in the Army. I was hoping to get the fixed up ranch and that would put me ahead. I would buy some cattle and make it work. I bought that ranch and then the Depression hit," Marshall went on with his story. "So, no cattle. Not making enough off the land really to pay the taxes. I did some farming, but it was hard going. I just had the land. I had my job as marshal, too, but I was back to covering my living expenses with that."

A thought had occurred suddenly to Hicks. "Didn't you get the bonus? I thought all the soldiers in the Great War got a bonus."

"I got a certificate for a bonus for my work in the Army but it isn't due to be paid 'til 1945. And I watched those marchers real intently when they went to Washington to see if they could get anywhere, but they never did. They got the police turned on them and everything."

"I remember that," Sly said, nodding. "Disgusting."

"Wait, what is this? I have not heard this part of the story before." Northwood spoke up.

"The veterans of the Great War in the USA wanted to receive their bonus payouts during the Depression when they didn't have any work," Sly spoke up, "and they went to march on Washington D.C. and see if they could get the payouts. What happened was that they got the police turned on them."

Sly and Marshall were nodding. "That's what happened too," Marshall said. "No one got paid, so I was glad I had stayed at the ranch."

"If you were a veteran of the Great War, how did you end up serving in this one?" Klavier asked.

"I volunteered," Marshall said simply.

"He's got a real bad habit of doing that," Sly offered.

Marshall gave him a dirty look and then turned his attention back to Klavier. "My younger brother Neil volunteered himself for this war. Something like a week after the war was declared he got off the train in town one day and looked me up. Came all the way from the Texas coast were he'd been working to find me. Told me that he intended to join the Army and go overseas. I told him that that was dumb, and that he should wait and that if the Army wanted him they'd call him. But he couldn't be dissuaded and he was going to go. He got himself signed up and then decided to do undercover work. And then he was discovered by the Black Jackets and got shot as a spy. So that's why I came back. I volunteered again and didn't get turned down. When the opportunity to join the Sidewinders came up, I took it. And that's how I got here. I'm auxiliary radio operator, when Northwood isn't available."

There was a long moment of silence. Ackbey Hicks spoke up next. "I don't have a story. Marshall is the only one who has a story. My parents moved from Borginia to America after the end of the last war. I was born in America. We lived in upstate New York, about an hour's drive from the big city. Of course, during the Depression, my family didn't have a lot of extra money to spend on gas, so only saw the city twice while I was growing up. I used to be a police officer before the war began, and when it did, I joined the Army. I wasn't too fond of police work. It really depended on who you knew to get anywhere in the organization. And that's how I wound up here." He finished, fiddling with the silver clip that hung from his neck on a gold cord. Just above the clip was a red glass pendant. He wore the necklace with his uniform all the time.

Casper shuffled down inside his bedroll and moved closer to the fire. "I used to work as a private detective in Chicago before the war. I'm good at hiding, smuggling, and disguising things. That's what I do for us. "

"And he learned all of this in the last year of the Prohibition," Hicks added. Then for Klavier's benefit, he added, "That was an ill-advised effort to force everyone in America to give up liquor."

"Had to get that Canadian rum into the US somehow!" Casper announced. "So I helped get it in. Made a good living at it, too. Learned about boating, building secret compartments, all sorts of stuff. Anyway, Prohibition ended a year later like he said so then the rum-running business was a bust. I went back to regular detective work. When war broke out, I got drafted, and I met Hicks during basic training. We ended up getting selected by the Captain to serve in the Sidewinders and we've been here ever since."

There was another pause, and then Northwood noticed that they were looking at him. "Bugger all. No one cares."

"Sure we do. Get started," Marshall replied.

"Fine. I got drafted when the war started, for us Brits, not you Yankees. I'd been playing with radios since I was a child so I worked with them when I was drafted. I ended up here because Lt Terran noticed that I was good with radios and was trying to drink myself to death every time I went on leave. I was engaged to be married to a nurse who was killed in a bombing raid by the Luftwaffe during the Blitz, Kraut, so I'm not real comfortable with you being here. Though heaven knows, you ought to be an improvement over the Lieutenant's efforts to speak German."

"Don't be bitter about it," Hicks said, not unkindly. "Miss Shields was a hero."

"I know," Michael replied. "But I didn't want Vicky to be remembered as a dead hero. I wanted her to live."

They turned to look at Klavier. "Alright, Gavin. How'd you wind up here? Other than that we needed a translator?"

"That is the story. Lt Terran recruited me because I could speak German."

"And you must not be a real big fan of your country's government." Hicks suggested.

"To put it mildly, no."

"Don't put it mildly. If you didn't like Nazis, how'd you wind up in the war?"

"I was conscripted. It was either I went to war, or my brother went to Dachau."

There was a pause among the group. Most of them had been involved in enough behind the scenes work in the war to know what happened to people who objected to the Nazi government of Germany.

"Must have been a real great place to live, your country," Hicks said after a long moment.

"It was, once."

There was another pause, then Hicks asked, "Did others feel that way? About Hitler and the Nazis?"

Klavier gave a half-shrug. "If one did feel that way, they would not say it. If the Gestapo found out…They found out about Kristoph and he went to Castle Broken and I ended up here."

"That's two of you, anyway, who were against him. Were there others?" Northwood asked. He sounded genuinely curious.

"Yes," Klavier said, and smiled in spite of himself. "We had a joke in Munich: Oh Lord, I pray, send the Furher to England; please hear my most fervent 'Te Deum.' Send him soon, nicely stuffed, for I want my king-land. And they want him for their British Museum."

The Sidewinders burst out laughing. When they had regained their composure a few minutes later, Northwood said, "That was …surprisingly good. But I promised we don't want Hitler in the museum. Can't have him scaring the children now."

"Lt Terran said that we're going to sooner or later make it to a castle that we are going to storm and that your brother is being held there," Marshall said.

"That is also true."

"What about a castle?" Clay asked, coming up behind them.

"We're storming a castle, I hear." Sly replied.

"When we get there we will," Terran said, digging his bedroll out of his pack and pulling his visor off. The Sidewinders played fast and loose with the rules of Army dress. Clay always wore his blue coat, gloves, and visor. Marshall still wore his poncho, bandana, and hat. Hicks wore his necklace. Klavier had started wearing an earring again upon this discovery. "In the morning, Northwood, we'll need you to get on the radio and send a message back to London."

"Will do."

"And Major Samson will be in town when we get back to our side."

"Boo!" Sly called.

"A pox on that man," Northwood muttered.

"Which reminds us," Hicks said, turning back to Gavin. "We're not friends with the Major. Don't be friendly with him. Engage in the minimum amount of respect possible to not get a court martial. If you're friendlier then that, we'll drum you out of the Sidewinders."

"Don't…" Clay started to say 'don't listen to them,' but he paused and reconsidered. "He isn't…that bad."

"That is a damned lie, Gavin. Don't listen to it. Samson is worse than bad," Sly said. Hicks and Marshall were nodding.

"Please don't start anything with the Major, this war is hard enough as it is," Clay muttered, settling into his bedroll and throwing his coat over it for added warmth.

"We don't have to wear our regular uniforms, do we?" Northwood asked.

"No, no one has to wear their regular uniforms, as long as you don't show up to inspection in pajamas again," Clay replied. Where Northwood had even managed to find pajamas in the middle of a war was a question Clay had never gotten an answer to.

"But I can wear my dressing gown?"

Clay gave him a long look. "Could you please not make this any harder than it has to be?"

The men all looked at each other, then there were assorted murmurs and mutterings from the group.

"I'm not asking you all to be nice," Clay clarified, knowing there was no hope on that front anyway, "I'm just asking you all not to make things harder than they need to be. Alright?"

Marshall shrugged. The others, except Klavier, who had never met the man in question, nodded.

"Thank you," Clay finished.

"Does Samson know that we've got a German with us?" Hicks asked.

"No, but the General knows, and he's the one who really matters," Clay explained.

Sly rolled himself on to his side inside his bedroll so he had a better view of the others. "Long as we don't get shot at again because _someone_ ," He gave Clay a long look, "offends the surrendering Germans, I don't think Samson has anything to say about it."

"Listen," Clay sat up, his coat slipping off his bedroll as he did. He pointed at Sly. "I recruited a bona fide German to do the translating for us, so _let it go_!"

Sly turned to Klavier. "Are you qualified to speak German?"

" _Sie ticken doch ganz nicht richtig_ ," Klavier retorted.

"Well… it sounds German. I think. Where were you born?"

" _München_."

"What?"

"Munich."

"Isn't that in Switzerland?"

Klavier gave him a look of frustration. "I have it on good authority that Munich is not in Switzerland."

Northwood spoke up. "Sly, it is astonishing to me that you managed to make it to adulthood and through your military training without ever looking at a map of the Continent you'd be sent to. Also, do you know what language they speak in Switzerland?"

The conversation stopped abruptly as Apollo came back into the camp. "We are going to make a detour. We've been asked to stop and share the information we have from today's mission with a group of Resistance fighters in a town not too far from here."

"Anything we need to know about that town?"

"It's occupied," They all knew that that meant the town was under German control, "and we'll have the Milice to deal with."

"So more danger then," Clay noted.

"Undoubtedly," Apollo agreed. "But that's a problem enough for tomorrow. Let's get some sleep. Marshall, you're on first watch. Gavin, take second. Northwood, take third. I'll take fourth."

(-)

That night, Apollo dreamt.

There was nothing new about this. He has had many dreams before, ever since the end of his ordeal in the woods.

He dreams that he's back at the ceremony where he was presented with his medals, a Purple Heart and a Silver Star.

"This information that cost many lives will save many lives," The faceless man in front of him says and he knows that it's the General. But he can't see the man.

They don't pin the medals on him. Somehow, he ends up wearing the Purple Heart, and holding the Silver Star in his hands. The five pointed star is bright silver, but when they put it in his hands it dulls instantly to a dark grey.

Next to the faceless officials, he can see the German who saved him, facing away from him. From behind, all he can see is the man's uniform and pale blond hair under his helmet. 'This is for you,' he wants to say. But the words don't come. He can't say them. He tried to hold out the star, but as he did, it started to crumple and turned to dust.

I wouldn't have been here to earn this if it hadn't been for you. You should have this, he thinks, but he can't say the words.

The German is sitting on something. It might be a rock. He won't turn to face Apollo.

I didn't earn this! I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you! Apollo tries to say again. But there's nothing left now but dust in his hand, and it all blows away.

The faceless Army officials still stand there. The German won't look at him.

He doesn't know what to do, and it fills him with despair.

Apollo snapped awake. Overhead, the stars were out, and a half moon shed light on the world below. The fire had burned down and was now a pile of glowing coals. The other men were sleeping, by all appearances soundly. Apollo got out of his bedroll and slid his boots back on. He looked around, and then set off over the low rise. The plain below stretched out; cool and silent in the night.

Klavier was perched on a sturdy branch in the only tree nearby. He'd been patrolling during his time on guard duty and now, up in the tree, he had an even better view of the surrounding area. He paused in the middle of the song he was writing in his notebook when movement caught his attention, but he saw that it was just Apollo.

The Captain stood up and after a moment left the camp and headed off over the plain. Klavier watched him for a few minutes, then turned his attention back to his writing.

2.

"…I just don't think that it's an effective thing to do, that's all," Sly finished.

"I disagree," Northwood spoke up. "Grenades are very effective. That's why I always like to have one on me."

It was morning, and the men were on the march to the French village that was in need of their information. Their march was more of a loosely organized line making its way along a narrow footpath.

"And if you lose the pin to that grenade, we're all gonna die," Sly replied.

Clay, like Apollo, had been listening to the conversation without any interest in getting involved, but this statement made him curious. "And how would someone lose a grenade pin?" He asked.

Sly held up his hands. "Listen, I have seen it happen. We have seen it happen. In basic training. Right, Hicks?"

"Right," Hicks replied with a nod.

"And anyway, you gotta be able to throw it and get it where it needs to go, which means you've either got to be closer to the enemy then you want to be or that you've got to have good aim," Sly went on.

"Is your aim that bad when you throw a grenade?" Klavier asked. "You only have to get it close to your enemy. It is not that difficult."

"Maybe with your German-style grenades, but our American models are different. Anyway, I don't want to hear about aim from you. You're a sniper. Your opinion doesn't count," Sly replied.

"Usually I am asked for my opinion on aim, being as I am a sniper. This is the first time I have ever been excused from a discussion on aiming weapons due to my status as a sniper," Klavier noted.

"You sure gave us a moment during that first fight when we thought you were running from battle," Marshall noted.

"I wouldn't do that. I just needed a better vantage point to shoot from," Klavier replied.

"We know that now. You were looking for a place to do your sniping from." Hicks tripped over a tree root but managed to correct himself before he fell.

"We got a sniper and a translator, which makes for a good bargain," Sly added.

Ahead of them, Apollo and Clay came to a stop. The rest of the group followed suit. Apollo turned to face them all. "The town we have to stop in is just ahead. Once we drop off our information, we're going on past the town. We're going to be picked up by plane and Northwood will call that in for us when we're done here."

"We know where we're meeting the Resistance?"

"See that barn there?" Apollo pointed out a barn just outside of the woods. "We're supposed to wait there for the Resistance. They know we're coming. Clay, you wanna take a walk around, make sure no one's gonna notice us when we get there? The rest of us will head towards the barn, take our time, and meet you there."

"Sure," Clay replied. "I'll take Gavin with me." He motioned the other man forward, and they set off.

(-)

Clay's meandering path had taken him all around the apparently deserted farmhouse and barn. Klavier was around somewhere, but the two of them had split up again once they had reached what appeared to be a stone marker at the edge of the property and agreed to meet in the barn with the others.

Clay skipped the big doors at the front of the barn and was headed to a smaller, more person-sized door on the side of the barn when suddenly he was pulled away from it and slammed against the side of the barn. He lunged at his attacker, ready to shout for the others to run, but to his surprise, it was Klavier who had grabbed him. The German put one finger up, a sign that Clay understood to mean that he needed to be silent.

Klavier leaned forward and said next to Clay's ear, "Go carefully to the door of the barn and look through the window. Be sure not to be seen."

He let go of Clay and stepped back. Clay looked at him for a moment and then stepped cautiously to the door. There was a small pane of glass in the center of it and through it he could see that the rest of the Sidewinders had been caught by Millice. Clay stepped away and made his way back to Klavier. He pointed away, towards the deserted the farmhouse, and the two men hastened away to the far side of the farmhouse.

"How did you know?" Clay asked.

"I almost walked in on them. I looked through the window just as I was about to open the door," Klavier replied.

"How did we miss them?"

"We don't know how long they were here waiting. Have the codes London uses been compromised? Does the SS have them?" Klavier asked.

"I don't think so," Clay said, and frowned. _At least I sure hope not_.

There was the sound of a door slamming open, and the two of them peered around the corner of the house and watched as the rest of the Sidewinders were marched out to a truck that had just pulled up.

"This is not good." Clay said, and leaned back against the building. "What are we going to do?"

"Does anyone else in the Sidewinders speak French?" Klavier asked.

"No. You and I are it. Well, I guess Northwood knows a little bit of it from traveling across the channel before the war, but as far as I know, he doesn't know enough to hold a conversation," Clay told him. "And I guess," _Because Stefan told me_ , "That his English accent makes his French hard to understand sometimes."

Klavier looked thoughtful. "In Paris, when I was in school there before the war, I was often informed that I spoke French with a German accent."

Clay sat up straight. "That's it! There's no one the Vichys fear more than the Germans. You can go demand the release of the Sidewinders!"

"Not in this uniform," Klavier replied mildly.

"Fair point," Clay had to acknowledge that no one would do anything other than arrest both of them if they showed up in the middle of the town dressed in American uniforms. "I think, using the information from last night's radio transmission, I can find some of the Resistance. They might be able to help us with this."

It was worth a try.

(-)

Clay set the hat on his head and frowned at his reflection in the mirror. "I feel like a traitor." He was dressed in the uniform of a member of the Millice. He was to act as Klavier's adjunct in the plan that he, Klavier, and the local resistance had come up with.

"You look like one too," a Frenchman named Theodore, who was lounging on the bed behind Clay, replied. The man was dressed in the uniform of the Schutzstaffel. He was one of two Resistance members who had been assigned to help rescue the Sidewinders as he was able to speak both French and German.

In the inner bedroom, Klavier set his own hat on his head and took in his appearance. In the black SS uniform, he looked just like a Storm Trooper, and he didn't like it. But if they wanted to get the Sidewinders back, he had to do it. He fiddled with his bangs that showed under the hat for a moment. He was clean-shaved again, but he'd let his hair grow back out into the short bangs he preferred, since the Sidewinders, as Marshall had once memorably put it, "Couldn't care less about appearance as long as you can do the job."

It was too late to worry about it now. Hopefully, the Millice wouldn't notice.

He opened the door and came out into the other room. Clay didn't look any more comfortable in his new uniform. He nodded when saw Klavier. "You look good enough to shoot."

"No thank you. That has already happened to me," Klavier replied. "Ready?"

"Ready." Clay nodded. "Let's get the rest of the Sidewinders back."

They drove into the center of the town, with a car that the Resistance had stolen from the Vichy government a few towns over, and got out in front of the police station where the Millice were stationed.

(-)

There was no way of knowing how long they had been there, but Apollo had begun to feel like it had been hours since the Sidewinders had been captured and taken here, and the future, he decided, was not something worth thinking about.

There was no one who spoke English here, enough to understand, anyway, and most of the conversation between the Sidewinders and the Millice had been handled by Northwood, who could just barely make himself understood in French.

The men were sitting on a bench in the main room of the station, under armed guard. The attempt to learn information from them had been abandoned long ago, when it because obvious that the only thing the Sidewinders would give was name, rank, and serial number, and that Northwood lacked the ability to translate more in-depth questions that were put to them.

The rat-faced man who had arrested them was busily working on paperwork, probably, Apollo decided, to make sure that his prisoners would be sent to a prison, or shot as spies, when the door slammed open and there came a shout of " _Achtung_!"

The rat-faced man jumped to his feet, and turned pale when he saw a man in a SS uniform coming towards him. Apollo gaped for a moment, then swallowed hard and regained his composure as Klavier Gavin, dressed as an SS officer, and Clay Terran, dressed as member of the Millice, walked into the room. Klavier stopped in front of the rat-faced man's desk and swung his right arm out into a salute. " _Heil Hitler!_ "

The rat-faced man raised his arm in more of a 'stop' motion than a full salute as Klavier had done, and muttered " _Heil Hitler_."

And Apollo watched, silently breathless, to see what would happen next.

Klavier dropped his salute and stood in front of the rat-faced man's desk.

"I am here to take custody of these American prisoners," Klavier informed the man.

The rat-faced man gaped for a moment, looked at Apollo and the others, then looked back at Klavier and said, "Sir, I must protest. These men are prisoners of the Millice."

"They were prisoners of the Millice. They are now prisoners of the Shutzstaffel," Klavier replied. "Never fear. I will make sure that you receive full credit for apprehending these spies."

"Spies?" the rat-faced man said, glancing at the Sidewinders again.

"Spies," Klavier said, and nodded. "They are wearing American uniforms. What else could they be?"

The rat-faced man hesitated. "Still, sir, I cannot hand them over to you."

"You dare resist the orders of the SS?" Klavier asked, raising an eyebrow at the man. "Corporal."

Clay stepped forward and saluted. "Sir."

"Go send a telegram to General Burkhalter and ask him whether he intends for these prisoners to remain the custody of the Millice or whether he wants them handed over to the SS."

The rat-faced man turned paler, if it was possible. "Ge-General Burkhalter? But, but, he is in Germany! How could he know that there are American prisoners here? And with the Allied invasion…" He trailed off.

Klavier shifted his stance and stood at parade rest. "We are the SS. We have our ways." Then to Clay he added, "Go."

Clay saluted again and went back out the door.

The rat-face man asked, "Will you take a seat, Sir?"

"No thank you," Klavier replied, not adjusting his stance at all. "The General is in his office all day these days now that the Allies have invaded. I daresay that it will be only a very short time before we receive a response from him."

This did not look like it cheered the rat-faced man up at all. He was glum when he went back to his paperwork.

(-)

Clay exited the building and walked to the building next door. The sign over the door said "telegraph office" and it was, but the basement of it was where he was to meet his support group for the operation.

"How goes it?" Theodore asked when Clay entered the basement. Telegraph operations had been taken over by another member of the Resistance. The Vichy-supporting operator who the Resistance member had replaced was tied up and gagged in a corner of the basement room. The change of operators had taken place just about the time that Klavier and Clay had entered the office next door.

"The shock and awe tactic is working so far, but I don't know how long it's going to hold out. I need a fake telegram from General Burkhalter saying that that man in the office has to hand his American prisoners over to us," Clay reported.

"We'll get on it," One of the other men in the room said. He departed the room, heading upstairs.

Clay turned back to Theodore. "I guess you and your friend will have to come back with me because I doubt that that sneak next door will believe that I'm the one lone soldier that Gavin brought to escort to escort everyone out of the building."

Theodore and the other man nodded. "We're ready," Theodore promised.

Clay nodded and glanced at the clock. Then he tapped his foot, realized what he was doing, and tried not to look impatient.

"He's hurrying with that fake telegram as fast as he can," Theodore told Clay.

"I know. But I left Gavin out on a limb back there and I'm worried about him. I'm worried about everyone in there," Clay replied. "I'm anxious to get back."

(-)

The minutes ticking by felt interminable as the Sidewinders waited for Clay to return with whatever Klavier had dispatched him to get. None of them knew what it was, as the conversation had taken place entirely in French.

The only positive news was that the rat-faced man was still visibly nervous with a German standing over him.

This, Apollo, decided, would be something they would all be able to laugh about when it was all over. At least, he hoped that they would be able to laugh at it.

The door at the end of the room swung open and Clay strode in again, followed by two men who were in SS uniforms. Klavier turned to face them. Clay snapped off a salute and extended a piece of paper, folded in half. Klavier read it, nodded, and then turned and handed it to the rat-faced man. The man read it, and his face looked like he'd bitten into a lemon.

Klavier said something else in French, and the two other men who were dressed as SS stepped forward. They motioned for the Sidewinders to stand up, and started marching them towards Clay.

Klavier took the paper back from the rat-faced man, said something else in French, then gave the Nazi salute again. "Heil Hitler!"

The rat-faced man returned the salute as best as he could, and replied, "Heil Hitler."

Klavier turned on this heel and followed his soldiers and the Sidewinders out the door.

It wasn't until they had all been loaded into two vehicles waiting outside and were driving away that Apollo spoke up. "Nicely done."

"Don't thank us too soon," The Frenchman in the SS uniform who was driving, spoke.

"We're not quite safe yet," Klavier added.

It wasn't until they were outside of town, at the schoolhouse that served as a headquarters for the Resistance, that everyone relaxed.

Clay had been in the first car, and he wasted no time getting out of it and calling in French to Theodore, who was driving, "I hope no one minds that I'm getting out of this uniform."

"No one will," Theodore replied as he also exited the vehicle. Clay was already past him, on his way into the old building. It had once been a school, but since the war and the occupation, now stood vacant. The building was still tended by a groundskeeper, but it still had a slightly run-down look to it as there was no money for maintenance and repair of the building.

"I believe I will do the same," Klavier said as he turned to the building also.

"You two!" Apollo called, and both Klavier and Clay, still in their enemy uniforms, turned back to face him.

"Thank you, Apollo said, and meant it.

Clay grinned, snapped off a salute, and marched towards the schoolhouse, humming 'Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition' under his breath as he did. Klavier also saluted, but he seemed less happy than Clay had been. Then he too went to change.

3.

Being back behind their own lines brought another type of trouble to the Sidewinders.

Major Samson had come and it was time for them to be reviewed.

On the morning in question, the group had formed a loose half-circle and were waiting for their commanding officers to show up. They were outside the regular Army camp for inspection, and camp they had returned to was well behind their own lines.

Klavier looked around. "You do not all stand in line for inspection?"

"Not for Samson we don't," Sly informed him.

"We're going to get this over with as fast as possible," Hicks said, crossing his arms over his head. "And then we can go back to our real jobs."

Klavier had thought that he was the last to arrive, but Northwood straggled in a moment later, lighting a pipe. He was wearing a grey dressing gown over his uniform. "Am I late?"

"One minute early," Marshall replied.

The Brit exhaled a plume of smoke. "Bugger. I was trying to be late."

"Attention!" A man snapped, and they looked up to see a tall, brown-haired man with a frown his face stomping towards them. Klavier had come to attention by reflex. After he realized that none of the others had come to attention, he relaxed.

"Where are your officers?" Samson demanded.

"They are coming," Marshall replied calmly. "In fact, pardner, they're behind you."

Samson swung around to see that, as Marshall had said, Clay and Apollo had come up behind him. "Sir," Apollo said politely.

Samson glared at him, then looked at the other soldiers. He started with Northwood, who was the closest. "Why is this man in his dressing gown?"

"Sir, just because it's an uncivilized war doesn't mean I have to be uncivilized," Northwood replied. "It's not even eight o'clock in the morning yet." He and Samson exchanged long looks, Northwood puffing his pipe and looking like a chimney the whole time.

Samson pressed his lips together and turned his attention to Klavier. He studied the German carefully for a moment, then turned back to Apollo and Clay. "Do you see something wrong here?" He asked. He meant the silver earring in Klavier's ear.

Clay put a hand on his chin and considered the question. "Gavin, shouldn't you be wearing your sunglasses?"

Klavier pulled his sunglasses out of the same pocket where he kept his notebook and put them on.

"I think that's better," Clay said. He managed to keep a straight face as he said it to a man who would have cheerfully killed him for the scene he'd just had to watch.

Samson turned back to Klavier. "You're new to this group, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," Klavier replied.

Samson's eyes narrowed when he heard Klavier speak. "Where are you from?"

"Munich."

"Germany!?" Samson swung back around to face Apollo and Clay. "You have a German with you?!"

"Yes sir," Clay said. "We needed someone who could speak German. No one speaks German quite like the Germans." He didn't say it to be funny, but Hicks suddenly looked like he would burst out laughing. Sly stomped on his foot just in time, and the two of them were back at a semblance of attention before the motion made Samson swing back around to glare at them.

Samson gave Klavier another long look, then turned his attention to Marshall. He looked at Marshall, then back Apollo. "I see you men don't maintain Army grooming standards," he said.

"Sir, my men stay very busy in a lot of dangerous work. I am more concerned about getting everyone back safely after a mission then whether or not we keep our hair cut to Army regulations. Also, Marshall is part Indian, and his long hair is significant," Apollo explained.

Marshall nodded. "It's all true," he said.

"He hasn't shaved either!"

"Sir, he can't help it," Apollo replied, in a tone that bordered dangerously on deadpan. "His five o'clock shows up by noon."

Samson looked at Sly, but only for a moment. He moved on to Hicks. "Still wearing that necklace?"

"Yes, sir," Hicks replied. The discussion of this necklace, which was significant to Hicks as a Borginian, had taken place almost every time Samson showed up.

The rest of the review was mercifully short, and all of the Sidewinders looked relieved when he was gone.

But as he left, he handed an envelope to Apollo. "The General sent this."

Apollo and Clay crowded together, studying the sheet of paper that had been in the envelope Samson had given him. The rest of the Sidewinders watched the man leave.

"Now we go back to praying that the Luftwaffe will drop a bomb on Samson's head before our next review," Sly stated as soon as he was sure that the man was out of hearing range.

"What Luftwaffe?" Klavier wanted to know.

Sly considered that. "Well, that would explain why our prayers have gone unanswered."

"We'll have to pray for something else to happen to Samson," Hicks decided. "Perhaps he could drive over a landmine."

"Whose landmine?" Northwood wanted to know.

"Anyone's landmine," Hicks replied firmly. "Don't get hung up on details."

"Or maybe a German sniper could shoot him," Sly added. Then a new thought occurred to him and he turned to Klavier. "Hey Gavin, how do you feel about friendly fire?"

"I try to avoid giving and receiving it," Klavier replied.

"Good answer," Apollo had drifted over in time to hear the end of the conversation. Then he announced, "We have another mission and we're moving out tomorrow."

(-)

The rest of the day was spent preparing supplies and getting ready for the next day's mission.

That night, Apollo dreamed again.

This time he dreamed that he was walking along a river.

He remembered this river. It was the river that the German soldier who had saved him told him to follow to leave the forest and find safety. That time, he had followed the river alone, but this time. He can see, walking in front of him, the German soldier.

As before, he can't see the man's face. But he knows that this is the soldier who saved him, and he hurried to follow the other man.

Apollo wants to know who he is, to say the things he should have said then, but didn't know to say until now. He followed the riverbank in great haste, stumbling over loose rocks and branches.

But the soldier in front of him doesn't stumble.

Apollo lunged forward and managed to grab the man's sleeve. But the German soldier was gone, and Apollo was left standing alone by the riverbank.

* * *

 **[A/N:]** I was gonna try and hit 12,000 words again, but this was getting a little long and the next section, if it gets continued, and I make no promises, is just more drama and I thought we had enough drama for one chapter.

I was re-reading a favorite fanfiction set in the 1920s and the author said in her notes that she had surprised herself by doing research for her author's notes. So then you have me, sitting behind my Kindle, grinning like a fiend. TO be fair, the last time I read that fic was long before CD but I was still amused.

Okay, on to the actual notes.

This story, I forgot to mention last time, is named after a piece of music by Josh Leake. "Dusk to Dawn" is available on You Tube in America if you want to check it out. I can't speak for any other countries.

Tagiturn is a place I made up for the story. The name is pronounced with the "g" making a "j" sound, so, TAA-ji-turn. And we get to see more of Apollo's backstory here.

According to ...people I have heard from who are in the military, soldiers give each other nicknames. We're going with last name basis here because I couldn't be bothered about nicknames.

That poem that Klavier tells the Sidewinders is a legitimate anti-Hitler ditty that does originate in Munich and/or Bavaria. I got it out of Ernest Pope's book "Munich Playground." He notes that Bavarians were not fond of the Nazis, and he's not the first I've heard note that in their writing. Another American expat in Germany at the time noted the same thing, and the author of "Diary of a Man in Despair," whose name I have forgotten at the moment, was a Bavarian German who noted the anti-Nazi sentiment in Bavaria. At least if I remember the diary correctly.

" _Sie ticken doch ganz nicht richtig"_ means "You might tick incorrectly," according to my sources, so you can probably guess what Klavier's trying to say about Sly here. Sly himself is a character from one of the Ace Attorney mangas. He didn't get a lot of characterization there, so I'm sort of doing what I want with him here. Who else? Hicks is from Ace Attorney Investigations, the first one. I think everyone else has been explained.

What language do they speak in Switzerland? German is only one; according to Wikipedia, there are four official languages in Switzerland: German, French, Italian, and Romansch.

The Millice…how do I describe them? Yes-men for the Nazi regime? The French version of the Gestapo? Hm…Anyway, the Millice were started by the Vichy French government, in conjunction, of course, with the Nazis, to strike back against the French Resistance. Their other low points included helping to round up Jews and deport them to concentration camps. I read a book about some Englishmen who worked with the French Resistance during the war, and the Millice were actually considerably dangerous because they were local, and knew who belonged in the town and who did not, and understood the local dialects (the book in question is " _They Fought Alone_ " by Charles Glass). Since Clay only speaks French and English, he has to be Millice. Since Klavier is tri-lingual, he can be anything the Sidewinders need him to be, within reason.

 _They Fought Alone_ was also the book that let me in on a few other things that I incorporated into this chapter. The scene where Klavier asks if London had been compromised with their codes – he's asking because he doesn't know, but the Allies did have their codes compromised. In fact, the Nazis at one point got on the radio to London and taunted them about having broken their codes, and London blithely blew them off, because it was impossible for the Anglo-French resistance to have been infiltrated or have their codes broken. Except the Nazis weren't lying.

Bonus points to whoever can guess which WWII TV show General Burkhalter is from. I didn't feel like making up another character so I stole the first handy name I came across.

The German Luftwaffe, as far as I am aware (remember my TL;DR warning at the start of CD?) just seemed to be used less and less as the war came to a close. Whether this is because the German planes were shot down in such numbers that they couldn't be replaces, or if they were drawn in to protect the country of Germany as the war drew to a close, becoming more defensive than offensive, I'm not entirely clear.

Alright. I think that's everything. But as always, if there's something I forget, feel free to let me know and I'll try to answer your question if I can.

Please review!


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